A La Coulson
by CeliaEquus
Summary: It's hard for the Avengers to find an eating place they all like. When they finally find The Everything Diner, Tony develops the idea to set up the head chef, Phil Coulson, with one of them. Meanwhile, Phil has been helping a mysterious homeless man, with a connection to one of his new regulars. Disclaimer: I don't own any Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this.
1. Chapter One

"Chapter One"

"This is it, right here," Clint said, pointing. Without warning, Tony swerved the car to the left, across the – fortunately empty – lane of traffic, and straight into the car park of The Everything Diner. It wasn't so much a diner as a restaurant, but that was due to its expansion. The owner didn't change the name; just the location. The restaurant had been gaining in success over the months, and the Avengers had yet to try it out.

"I'm glad we went through that roller coaster ride _before_ the meal," Steve muttered from the back. He waved at Thor and Jane, who were already waiting for them. Pepper was on the other side of their car, chatting away on the phone. Now they knew why she had tactfully gotten out of riding with Tony.

"Have you ever even been on a roller coaster?" Tony asked as they all climbed out, looking at Steve.

"Yeah, and I still have memories of Coney…" Steve trailed off, eyes shuttering. He swallowed, and opted to follow Natasha into the restaurant. They were lucky that there was plenty of space. Natasha and Clint had vetoed booking ahead, just like they did with every other place the Avengers had tried. Sometimes it made fitting in difficult, but the SHIELD agents were paranoid.

"A table for nine," Natasha told the maitre d'. He nodded, checked the tables, and led them over to a long one with enough room for all of them. Happy sat at one end, beside Pepper and Tony. Natasha sat closest to the kitchen, Clint kept his back closest to the wall, and the rest seated themselves elsewhere. They received their menus, and opened them up.

This was the tricky part. They had yet to find an eating place all six superheroes could agree on, as well as pass muster with their friends. Bruce had read about The Everything Diner on an online forum, and while it took nearly three quarters of an hour to drive there, he'd suggested it. Willing to try anything, the others agreed. Thanks to an argument about who sat where, they were later leaving than intended, and hungrier because of the time wasted.

"I don't know," Steve said, staring at the long list of varying options. "There's too much to choose from."

"Excuse me," one of the waiters said, leaning over Pepper's shoulder. He was wide-eyed, curly-haired, and adorkable. "Are you the Avengers? Lance said that he thought you were, but he thought someone here the other night was the Prime Minister. Didn't look anything like him, of course—"

"Yes, we're the, uh, the Avengers," Steve said, bringing the other's chatter to a halt. "Can you recommend anything from the menu?"

"I could recommend _everything_, sir," the waiter said. "It's The Everything Diner."

"Doesn't exactly help," Clint muttered, smirking as he nudged Steve's foot under the table.

"If… if you're having trouble deciding, I could ask our head chef to make his tasting menu. I'm sure he'd be happy to. He's a big fan of yours; all of you, that is. Not just Captain America, though he does sort of have a shrine… Anyway." He scratched behind his ear with a pen. "Are you ready to order yet?"

"Not yet," Pepper said. "We'll let you know…?"

"Leo."

"Leo. We'll let you know."

"Of course, Miss Potts. I'll, uh, be around." Then he skittered away, Happy watching him with deep suspicion.

"Word may get around quickly," Natasha said.

"What did you expect?" Jane said. "This isn't the first time you've been recognised in public. At least it's not too busy here."

"This far out of New York? `Course it isn't," Tony said, still studying the menu. Steve was frowning at his, and Thor was searching for the largest dish. Bruce was trying to decide between the vegan options when someone joined them. Judging by the apron and air of authority, it had to be the head chef.

"My name is Phil Coulson," he said. "Was someone asking about the tasting menu?"

"That'd be me," Steve said. "Well, I didn't really ask for it. Leo told me about it."

"If you prefer, I could just fix you smaller portions of a few of the favourites?"

Steve brightened. "You can do that?"

"Not a problem," Phil said, smiling widely. "Do you have any allergies?"

"No. Not since the serum… No, no allergies. As far as I know."

"I'll be careful. Let Fitz – I mean, Leo – let him know about any allergies or dietary requirements."

"I believe you use all organic ingredients?" Bruce said, before Phil could return to the kitchen.

"That's right."

"And I'm vegan."

Phil tilted his head. "There's no cross-contamination of any kind in my kitchen, I can assure you, sir."

"Thank you."

"Which of these meals is the largest?" Thor asked.

"He has a big appetite," Jane explained. "Very high metabolism."

"Higher than mine," Steve added. Thor shrugged, and Phil nodded.

"Pick what you want, and I'll make sure there's plenty of it," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work. Many hungry diners around."

Then he took his leave of them, and they continued to ponder over the choices. Eventually, Pepper was able to signal for Leo, who came and took their order. Natasha shadowed him to the kitchen, and waited until he'd left through another door before entering.

Phil didn't seem at all surprised to see her. He, along with a woman and another man, were hurrying around the room as they worked on the meals. Natasha crossed her arms, but kept out of the way as best she could. Phil was holding a knife, and pointed.

"That'll be the best and safest vantage point, if you want to watch," he said. She followed his suggestion, and found it a good one. She was able to see everything and stay back from the four chefs, as well as the sharp knives and boiling liquids.

Meanwhile, the others were surprised that none of their fellow diners had come over to take pictures. Either they hadn't been recognised, or there were strict instructions not to bother the Avengers and company. Lance, the maitre d', brought over complimentary water while the barman worked on their drinks order. Apparently, he used to work for a bar, but he fell in love with one of the waitresses, Skye, and joined The Everything Diner after the expansion, just to be with her. They were all accommodating, despite getting busier as more groups and couples showed up.

Natasha followed Leo and Skye as they brought out the plates and bowls of food. Thor had an extra large helping of steak, salad, and chips. Steve had three plates and a bowl, all different dishes. Bruce seemed pleased with his soup and roasted vegetables. It was Tony who tried some of his food, then some of Pepper's, and asked if he could have what she was having instead.

"Of course, sir," Skye said, picking up his dish. "There should still be enough left from when Trip made Miss Potts' food." Sure enough, less than a minute later a new meal was placed in front of Tony.

"You owe them a big tip for that, Tony," Pepper said. "There's no reason to keep them on their toes like that."

"Hey, they were happy to oblige," he said.

Jane muffled her chuckles behind her napkin, but Tony still narrowed his eyes.

"Sorry," she said. "Just remembering the Greek restaurant where the server dumped your meal on your head."

"And I learnt to be more polite after that," Tony said. "See? I grew. I developed. I learnt not to mock someone's _botargo _in front of his fiancée."

"I think she thought it was a euphemism," Happy said.

"Well, _I_ knew it was a euphemism, but I didn't know that _she_ knew that."

* * *

Phil hated having to throw out good food, and Jemma and Trip always made excellent food. He sighed as he stepped outside to take a breather.

Then he noticed something in the darkness. Someone.

"Hello?" he said, creeping closer. He noticed the shadow move, and a figure stepped into the light of the dodgy lamp out the back of the restaurant. There was a glint of steel, a mop of shaggy black hair, and then a man. He looked from Phil to the door, to the front of the restaurant, and back to Phil. His legs were trembling, as though he was weak, and his arms were wrapped around his middle. He glanced at the kitchen door again quickly, and took a step back. His skin was pallid, and his clothes were hanging loose. Phil noticed him playing with the zip of his hoodie.

"Are you hungry?" Phil asked. The man hesitated, and then shrugged. After another moment, he hung his head, and nodded. "Wait here."

He ducked back into the kitchen, and found that Mr. Stark's dish was still there and still warm. He grabbed an extra knife and fork, and went back outside. The stranger was huddling back against the dumpster, eyes constantly moving. He tensed as Phil approached, now exclusively watching the knife. Phil stopped a few feet away, and crouched down. He placed the plate on the bitumen, the knife and fork either side, and pushed it closer. Then he stood, backed up, and waited.

Slowly, two hands reached out. The man – was he homeless? – picked up the meal and brought it back to his lap. He stared at Phil for a moment, and then pulled the plate closer to his chest. Phil held up his hands, familiar with the universal gesture of 'Mine', and backed in to the kitchen. He waited a moment, but the stranger didn't move. With a soft sigh, Phil returned to the sink and washed his hands thoroughly. He donned his apron again, and went about working on the next vat of Soup of the Day (creamy leek and potato with capsicum sauce).

Half an hour later, he thought to check on the strange man. All that was left of him was an empty plate, nearly spotless, and equally clean cutlery. He must have licked up any remaining food. When was the last time he'd eaten?

Well, either the man would return or he wouldn't. Phil would keep an eye out for him, just in case. And if Tony Stark didn't know that his discarded meal had gone to a grateful belly, then that was fine by Phil. He was going to be charged for it anyway. It might as well go to someone who appreciated it.

* * *

In the car park afterwards, Bruce looked around at the others.

"Success?" he asked.

"Definitely coming back," Jane said.

"They were most attentive," Thor said.

"I liked it," Steve said.

"He allowed me to watch," Natasha remarked. "He almost seemed to expect it."

"It was so nice to taste real ingredients, and not just chemicals," Bruce said.

"Have we _actually_ found a place you can all agree on?" Pepper asked, eyes twinkling. The Avengers and Jane nodded, and Happy grinned. "Yes, Bruce. This was a success. Thank you for finding it."

"Oh, well," he said, shrugging. His cheeks turned pink. "I just read about it…"

As they climbed into their cars, not even Clint or Natasha noticed someone lurking nearby, watching them as they drove off.

* * *

It was the third time they'd been to The Everything Diner, but this time it was different. Thor's meal was normal-sized. There was a different wait-staff on, and a female maitre d'. The food was still good quality, and the same barman was there, and his girlfriend was on the till. When Natasha staked out the kitchen, she saw that Leo was one of the chefs, and he beamed when he saw her. But his two companions were unfamiliar to her.

"Ms. Romanov, this is Melinda, our sous chef," Leo said, pointing to the woman. "She and Phil do different days. And this is Mack. He's fresh out of grad school, and he's my roommate.."

"How do you do," Natasha said, studying the two strangers.

"If you could wait outside, we'll be done soon," Melinda said, indicating the door with her head. Natasha wouldn't move.

"Phil lets me stay here," she said.

"Do you think we're going to poison you?"

"That's always a possibility."

Melinda raised her eyebrows. "I wouldn't let that happen to my patrons. Now wait outside, _please_."

So Natasha had resigned herself to sitting at the table with the others, arms crossed and expression showing her deep displeasure. She should have been used to it; but Phil had been good about allowing her to watch the preparations, even spoke to her every so often (and winked once or twice, whenever Tony changed his mind about what he wanted). The only comfort she had was that Leo was in the kitchen.

After a comparatively disappointing meal – although still better than most they'd had out – the Avengers trudged home. It had only been the six of them that night, and Bruce and Steve had been in charge of making sure that the others didn't complain to the staff. They didn't stay for dessert, even though Skye reassured them that Melinda made the best soufflés, and that Mack's puddings were unbeatable. Before they left, Clint caved and went back inside to get some of the truffles from the bar, which were apparently a joint effort between Leo and the barman Grant. They were the only bright spark on an otherwise sub-par evening.

"That does it," Tony muttered while they ate their truffles as they watched a rerun of _Supernanny_. "I'm hacking their computer records. They've gotta have their staff rosters somewhere."

"If that doesn't work, I'm going back tonight," Natasha said. "I'll find out then."

"But the restaurant closes in fifteen minutes," Steve said. "There won't be anyone there… oh."

"Or you could call and ask," Bruce said. "But I guess that's too law-abiding."

"They probably wouldn't give out that kind of information, no matter who we are," Clint said, tossing another truffle into the air. He caught it in his mouth, the chocolate exploding on his tongue. He loved that. Hell, he'd be getting truffles every time they went there from now on. No matter what Cap said about him getting chocolate all over his mouth. Clint saw the way Steve looked at him; he probably just wanted to lick the chocolate right off Clint's lips. You wouldn't be hearing any complaints from Clint, that was for sure.

"We're all busy the next couple of days, anyway," Steve said. He was trying not to stare at Clint's chocolate-smeared mouth. "Natasha, don't you have a mission to prepare for?"

"How do you know about that?" she asked. Steve looked surprised.

"Lucky guess, actually," he said. "Clint, are you going with her?" Clint shook his head, savouring the last of the truffles. "Tony, please don't waste JARVIS's time with hacking restaurant computer systems. It's a Tuesday. Maybe Phil doesn't work Tuesdays? Or at least not Tuesday nights? We've been on a Saturday and a Wednesday so far. They could even alternate days. It might be completely random. Let's just go when we can."

"Stake out the joint under the pretence of dining," Clint said with a big smile. "Good idea, Steve."

Ooh, he must have had it bad if he was blushing like that. Nobody pointed it out.

* * *

**That someone is Bucky, by the way. Probably wasn't clear enough about that. But since the end goal is Bucky/Phil, I had to start setting it up at some point, right?**

**Prompt fill, except this one will – obviously – be chaptered. It's on page 33 of round 25 on the Avengers Kink Meme. I'm on a bit of a Phil/Bucky kick at the moment (though my default setting tends to be a Phil/someone kick), and decided to go that way with the prompt.**

**Just to clarify, everything up to 'Cap 2' happened as-is, and only some of 'Cap 2' happened. SHIELD was never associated with HYDRA; Bucky was still HYDRA's weapon until seeing Steve began to break his programming. Sam and Steve became friends, and are searching for Bucky when they can. I think that's all you need to know.**

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter Two

"Chapter Two"

The next time the Avengers came in, Phil was working. He seemed a little surprised that Natasha actually smiled at him, really smiled at him, when he nodded to her corner. She hovered there, and he began to explain.

"It's not you," he said when he went to the fridge for more vegetables. "Melinda… she doesn't like being watched. It's not for me to tell you why. In fact, I'm pretty sure she hasn't told me the whole story, and we've known each other for years." He hugged the bag of carrots to his chest. "But I understand paranoia. That's why I have no problem with you staying here." Natasha inclined her head, and murmured her thanks. Phil's lips quirked up at the edges. "If you want to know when I'm on, my schedule's over there."

"Where?" she asked quickly. He indicated the board.

"Sometimes we have to swap shifts, but that's what we aim for," he said.

As soon as the food was prepared – and there were many of them tonight, including Jane's friends, Rhodey, and Maria – Natasha waited for a clear path to the board. She swiftly memorised Phil's schedule, and then returned to the restaurant, while Phil started to prepare the next meals.

* * *

Sure enough, Mr. Stark sent for more of what Captain America was having. Phil checked outside. His stranger was back again, half-hidden behind a bush. Phil took the meal out there, the cutlery wrapped in a napkin this time, to appear less threatening.

"Did you like it last time?" he asked. "The food?" The man nodded. "You don't have any allergies, do you?" He shook his head. "You'll eat anything, so long as it's food?" The stranger half-smiled, and then nodded again. "Here. I hope you like this. I made it all myself."

This time, the stranger didn't wait for him to leave. He tucked in as soon as he had the plate in his lap. He still watched Phil, but he seemed more at ease.

"Would you like a drink? You must be cold at this time of night." Another shake of the head. "Not even water?"

After a pause, the man cleared his throat. "Water," he said. "Yes."

Phil tried not to smile too broadly. "Okay. I won't be long."

"You… you weren't here the other night."

"I don't work every night."

"When?"

"Funnily enough, you're the second person to ask me that." The stranger continued to stare at him. "I'll write it down for you. I could give you my number, if you have access to a phone?"

"No."

"Then I'll… I'll get that water for you."

By the time he returned, the man had eaten most of the food. Phil had decided against a glass, and instead brought an unopened plastic bottle. If the man really was homeless, he'd probably appreciate it more, being able to take something with him. Perhaps next time Phil would arrange a doggie bag for him? Something which could be eaten cold or room temperature? He'd pay for it himself, of course.

"Fast eater, huh?" Phil said, and he placed the bottle on the ground, along with a piece of paper. "You can leave those things there, like last time. I have to get on with my work."

A fast hand grabbed the bottle. The limb looked as if it was made of metal. Phil didn't stare at it.

"Thank you," the stranger said, and he placed the bottle of water between his feet.

"You're welcome. My name's Phil, by the way. Phil Coulson, if you need to ask for me." He didn't know why the man would need to ask for him, but just in case…

"J-James. My name."

Phil smiled kindly. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch the man. "I might be a little while. You can wait if you want."

When there was no reply, he waved, and wandered back to the kitchen. He didn't want to leave Trip and Jemma alone too long. Jemma was inclined to panic a bit if he wasn't there, having grown far too attached to him after the accident a year ago. Though it was probably also because she was an overachiever with a huge fear of failure. Leo was the only one who could get her to calm down when it was near exam time.

Phil took a little longer than he'd planned, what with a flurry of dessert orders for some diners and main meals for other tables, and by the time he went outside all that was left was the plate, the cutlery, and the napkin. His stranger – James – had folded the napkin neatly and anchored it down with the knife and fork.

Who was he?

* * *

A week or so passed before Bruce, Jane, and other fellow scientists came to The Everything Diner.

That was the night someone made the mistake of trying to get the cashier to hand over all the money in the till. Before the Hulk could do so much as stir, Skye had disabled one of the would-be thieves, and Lance took the other one down when he tried to make a break for it. Grant calmly summoned the police, and Jane and Bruce watched in amazement as he bound the miscreants with cooking twine. Then the staff got on with things as usual, while Lance kept an eye on them behind his maitre d' desk.

While this was happening, Phil was talking to James. He raised his eyebrows when he heard the police sirens, but knew that if anything was happening in the diner, the others would be taking care of it.

But James had frozen, and was staring at the red and blue lights turning in to the car park. He was poised as if to run.

"They're not here for you," Phil said, rubbing his arm soothingly. "James, you're safe, aren't you?" James just looked at him. "Are you on the run from the police?"

"From everybody."

"Like the Blues brothers?" That got a blank look. "Never mind. I haven't told anyone about you, and you're out of sight here."

"I know," James said, but he still seemed to shrink back.

"I'll go find out what's going on."

When he heard about the attempted robbery, and that it was foiled in less than twenty seconds, Phil just snorted, and took a bottle of water out to James.

"Told you," he said. "They haven't come for you. Just a couple of idiots decided to try to knock this place over. They didn't know that we all have some kind of self-defence training."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I thought that was why the Avengers like to eat here. Turns out," he shrugged, grinning, "they just like the food."

"I like the food."

"I'm glad." He sighed. "I'd better get going. You can stay, if you want. I have a car. I could take you wherever you want?"

James shrank back further. "No."

Only a little disappointed, Phil retreated. "I'll see you later, then. Good night, James."

"Good night, Phil."

* * *

"I've gotta see this for myself," Tony said, scouring the internet after finding out that the restaurant's cameras weren't digitally accessible. Steve had given up trying to dissuade him. Thor was just as bad, wanting to 'witness the prowess of these unassuming mortals who serve our food'. With everyone else egging Tony on, there was no point in stopping him. The footage was quickly found on Tumblr, and they watched the fifteen-second fight. It was shorter than that, actually. Skye had the first perp on the ground pretty quickly. It was Lance who waited for the other to run before felling him. Nobody could fault them.

"I told you so," Bruce said. "It was incredible."

"It would've been cool to see Phil in action," Jane said. "I asked, and Skye said that he's ex-military."

"That's where I know the name!" Sam said. "Next time I go with you, I've gotta send a message to him. We met when I started helping vets. It'd be great to see him again. He said something about planning to work at a café, or something like that. I never did get around to eating there."

"Well, you did, you just didn't know it," Darcy said. She was snuggling up to him; as Jane had pointed out, subtlety wasn't her strong point. "We should go there sometime, just you and me, Birdie."

"Nah, it wouldn't be any fun for you, two guys talking about the army. Three, if Steve comes along." Even Steve face-palmed at that, and Darcy's face fell.

"We're going back to London soon," she said.

"Then we should throw a going away party," he said, smiling wider. "That's a great idea, Darcy."

She rolled her eyes and sat back with a huff. Sam remained oblivious.

* * *

Various SHIELD agents were also in attendance at the going away party for Jane, Darcy, Eric, and Thor. A man named Ian was supposed to be picking them up at Heathrow, even though Tony had already offered the use of his private jet to take them anywhere they wanted to go, even straight into London if they felt like sky-diving. Darcy seemed a bit more cheerful, even though she kept throwing longing glances towards Sam. He was speaking to Leo, their favourite waiter. He was filled with bubbling-over Scottish enthusiasm, and while he sometimes tripped over his words, he was efficient and open, and always eager to please.

"I'll tell him you're here, sir," he said, and he bustled off while Skye brought their complimentary water. Phil soon joined them at their table, grinning when he saw Sam.

"Sam Wilson," he said.

"Hey, Phil," Sam said, standing up. He shook Phil's hand and pulled him into a hug.

"Good thing I'm not wearing the apron," Phil said. "Wouldn't want to get food all over you."

"You know me, man," Sam said. "I'll get it all over myself without your help."

Phil laughed, and they chatted for a few minutes about mutual acquaintances, and how Sam met Steve. They talked about the diner's expansion into a restaurant, Sam's work, and even about the drive from the city. But then another group came in, and Phil excused himself to get back to work.

"I'll leave my card," Sam told him. "So you can get in touch."

"Sure thing," Phil said. "Just leave it with Skye. Look forward to seeing you again."

"Same here."

"He has an impressive service record," Maria said after he left.

"You had him checked out?" Clint asked, eyebrows shooting up. "Seriously, Hill?"

"Of course. I had all of them checked out when it became clear that this was going to be your regular place."

"Huh." Clint leaned on the palm of his hand, and gave her a winning smile. He was amused to notice the way that Steve's jaw tightened. "Spill. What d'you know about him?"

Maria smiled sweetly. "It's classified," she said.

"…What?"

"For good reason, from what I heard," Sam said. Clint pouted.

"Spoilsport," he said.

* * *

Phil was disappointed that Tony Stark didn't change his order as usual, so he whipped up extra and stored it in a food box, along with plastic cutlery and serviettes. He grabbed a bottle of juice, mentally adding everything up. After a pause, he added a small box of truffles on the other side of the salad, to keep them from melting, and put it all aside. He noticed Trip's curious glances, but chose not to comment on them. Natasha had undoubtedly noticed it, but she didn't comment, either.

While the Avengers tucked into their main meals, Phil sneaked out of the kitchen again, and looked around. It took a few seconds longer than usual to find James. He was peering into one of the windows around the corner. Phil cleared his throat.

"James?" he called softly. James whipped around, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

"Phil," he said, and he shuffled away from the window. Phil approached him carefully, pleased to see that James was relaxing more in his presence. He held out the box and juice.

"I love… I like having you around," he said. "I'm just worried that you're staying until you've finished so you can leave the cutlery and plate behind. So I packed everything up for you. In case you'd rather eat somewhere else.

"No," James said, taking the food and drink. "I… I like eating here."

"You can come in, if you want." James shook his head vigorously. "All right. Here." He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to James. "My address. If I'm not here, I'm either shopping or… well, not much else." He shrugged. "Anytime you need me. Even if it's the middle of the night."

"Why… why do you trust me?" James asked. Phil's heart nearly broke at the look in his eyes.

"Because you need someone to trust you," he said. "And someone you can trust."

James looked down. "I don't… I don't…"

"Just eat up," Phil said. He touched James's cheek. "You're still too thin."

"I don't eat much," James mumbled. "Mostly here."

"That's not—"

"Phil!" Jemma called. "Help?"

"I'd better go," Phil said. "I'll check out here when I can, so if you do want to stay…"

James nodded, and walked over to his usual corner. Phil returned to the kitchen, still bothered by the interaction. Soon, however, he was caught up in the rush of more food preparation, including dessert for the Avengers. He checked once, and James was still there, playing with the plastic knife. He didn't look up, but he half-smiled, so Phil figured that he had been noticed. Then he was busy again, James always at the back of his mind.

* * *

**Suddenly, Darcy and Sam made so much sense. I don't know why; it just happened.**

**Reviews, please!**


	3. Chapter Three

"Chapter Three"

In the parking lot once again, the Avengers and Co gathered together for one last talk before those bound for London could go on their way. They were going to be staying at a motel near the airport overnight, and leaving in the morning. Darcy was staring at Sam while Jane and Pepper talked. Then, with three strides, she was in front of the Falcon and yanked him down in to a kiss. All other conversation stopped. Darcy eventually released Sam, and stepped back, licking her lips.

"Shoulda done that a week ago," she remarked. "Oh wells. If Ian's still single…" She shrugged. "See ya next time we're in the same country, Wilson." He was gaping. "See all of you later. And no saving the world without me, okay?"

"Same to you, Lewis," Clint said, hugging her close. He released her, and could've sworn that Steve took a step towards them. Considering Natasha's look of amusement, he wasn't wrong. Feeling a spike of mischief, he kissed Darcy on the cheek, and then pulled back. Sam looked jealous. Good. Who knew the guy needed to be battered over the head with a clue? "Keep Thor out of trouble."

"Do my best not to," she said, and she sauntered over to Jane's side. They were soon driving off, and the others waved. Then the agents departed, and Steve climbed onto his motorbike, claiming that it was safer than Tony's driving. 'A toddler would make a safer driver' had been his exact words. Steve seemed stiff and awkward, more so than usual, and Clint felt that he'd possibly taken the teasing too far.

"Hey, Rogers," he said, sidling up to the bike. Steve glanced at him, but gave no other acknowledgement that he'd noticed Clint. Child. "I should probably tell you that if I was the one to come on to you, people would accuse me of being a corrupting influence, and say you were a victim of my 'lecherous ways'. But if you were to ask me on a date…" He trailed off as Steve's jaw dropped. "You'd be seen as a modern guy, and I'd be seen as the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the world. More win-win than the other possibility, right?" Still, Steve said nothing, and Clint felt a flicker of horror that he'd misread the situation entirely. "Just… just saying… Forget it, Steve. Sorry." He backed off, feeling a bit ill, and it definitely wasn't something he ate.

"No, Clint, wait," Steve said, and he held out a hand. "I'm… you kissed Darcy, and I thought…"

"That it wasn't just me trying to make your buddy jealous?"

Steve smiled sheepishly. "Oh. Uh…" He climbed off the bike. "I have a spare helmet, in case you want to ride with me?"

"I'd love to ride you," Clint said, using his bedroom eyes. Steve looked alarmed. "Too soon?"

"A bit."

"Okay. Hand me a helmet. If you're sure I'm safer alone with you than in Tony's car?"

"Much safer. Climb aboard."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n."

* * *

James was gone by the next time Phil checked. Disappointment welled in his gut, and he sighed as they finished closing for the night while Grant and Lance threw out the last few patrons. Administrative duties over for the night, he was the last to leave, waiting for each of the kids to let him know they'd gotten home safely. By the time the last of the messages arrived, he was nearly home. He parked, then walked around the front of his building, rather than going through the garage. He didn't usually take the long way; but something told him to tonight. Maybe it was the familiar shadow he thought he'd seen out the front? Whatever it was, he was glad he'd checked, because James was sitting on the doorstep. He looked up at Phil.

"You said anytime," he said.

"I did. C'mon in, James."

It was fairly warm out for this time of year, but if James really didn't eat all that often, no wonder he was shivering. Phil locked the door behind them, and led James to his sofa.

"I'll get a blanket," he said. "Do you want soup? A hot drink?" James shook his head. "Just think about it. I'll be right back. Thirty seconds, tops."

"Okay," James said softly, staring at his hands. Phil hurried and fetched a few blankets from the linen cupboard. He was back in about twenty-five seconds, and sat on the edge of the coffee table. James hesitated, and then picked the top blanket. He tucked it around his shoulders clumsily, and then looked up at Phil.

It was different seeing him in the light. Almost worse. Haunted. His eyes looked even more sunken in, and there were black smudges around them. It would have been a handsome face with more feeding, more light, and a few smiles. Phil found himself touching the skin again before he could stop himself. James gave him a piercing look, but he didn't move. Phil stroked the black line, and realised that it was makeup.

"Do you want me to help you get rid of this?" he asked, indicating the mark on his thumb. James nodded. "Okay. I'll grab some water. Sure you don't want a drink?"

"Um… soup?"

"Yeah? What kind of soup?"

"Anything. Just plain."

"Tomato?" James nodded. "I'll zap some for you. TV remote's here." He placed it on the table. "I've got cable, so watch anything you want."

He half-filled a medium-sized bowl with warm tap water, and grabbed a couple of face washers from the linen cupboard. He'd do the best he could without soap.

The soup was still warming up, so he placed some old newspaper on the floor between James and the coffee table, sat beside him, and wet one of the flannels. He tilted James's face towards him, holding his chin gently, and began to wipe off the eyeliner, or whatever it was. Most of it flaked off easily, falling onto his cheeks or chin. Easy to wash off. It was the makeup which had been on the longest that was the toughest to remove. He tried to be careful, but James grabbed his hand all the same.

"Sorry—"

"You don't have to be so gentle," James said.

"Do you want to continue?"

"No. I like you doing it."

With a small smile, Phil continued. He watched for signs of discomfort, but found none. Soon, the last of the black had been cleaned off, and Phil absently stroked the soft, porcelain-pale cheeks. The fact that this man – possibly homeless – had been wearing eye makeup for so long raised many questions. Phil allowed James his privacy, and left him to dry his face off. The soup was a perfect temperature, and Phil dispensed it into a brightly-coloured bowl. He added a spoon, and took it back to the living room. James was staring into the distance, holding the flannel and unmoving.

"Here you are," Phil said. James started, but he calmed when he saw Phil.

"Thank you," he said. Phil tidied up, and poured the water down the sink. He returned to James.

"Slow down," he said. "There's no rush. It's not healthy to speed through meals, you know." James grunted, but stopped sculling the soup straight from the bowl. "I'd ask you to tell me about yourself, but I don't want to drive you away. Never feel that you owe me anything."

James swallowed. "Not used to that."

"All I know is your first name, and that you're apparently on the run from anyone who isn't me." He sank onto the cushion beside James, who was watching him closely. "That you're very handsome. And there's good in you. I can see it. Something I learnt the hard way at boot camp." He smiled ruefully. James cocked his head. "Do you want to stay the night? You can have my bed; it's more comfortable than the sofa bed."

"I don't need… comfortable."

"So where are you living?"

James hunched his shoulders. "Anywhere."

"Here," Phil said.

"…I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"I'm a dangerous person," James said.

"You won't get any less dangerous without help."

He looked down. "Maybe… just the night."

* * *

"Mixed risotto. All of us. Seriously. Just keep it coming."

Bobbi raised an eyebrow. The Avengers usually came to The Everything Diner when Phil was on, but everyone had seen the battle on TV. It wasn't actually all that far away, which explained why they hadn't changed yet; they'd left the destruction in search of food.

"Yes, Mr. Stark," she replied, noting it down. "Drinks?"

"Water. Juice. Just as long as it's cold."

"And non-alcoholic," Clint said. "'M already falling asleep."

"Okay," Bobbi said. "We'll get `em to you right away."

There was just a mumble of agreement. She hurried to the bar and placed the order with Grant. Then she disappeared into the kitchen to speak to Melinda.

"You were right," she said. "They came tonight."

"What do they want?" Melinda asked.

"Mixed risotto."

"All of them?"

"Yes. Mr. Stark said 'Just keep it coming'."

"Sounds like we need the monster cauldron," Mack said. "Leo, the rice?"

"Coming right up," he said, hauling a bag over. "How many are there?"

"Just the five of them."

"If they want an endless supply, it doesn't matter how many cups of rice there are," Melinda said, chopping up vegetables. "Mack, get started on the sauce."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

It was the third time James had visited. They were sitting close together on the sofa, watching the news, both riveted by the footage of the Avengers taking down a terrorist group associated with Hammer Industries. Even without Justin Hammer at the helm, his company was still causing trouble.

"Would you like a key for this apartment?" Phil said. He'd been thinking about it, but didn't mean to speak his thoughts. He felt James freeze beside him.

"Why?" he asked sharply.

"Because I suspect that you don't have anywhere permanent, or at least semi-permanent, and stability… is important. So you don't have to wait for me to get home, especially if it's raining."

"Home," James said, sounding almost wistful.

"Listen, I know it seems strange. I don't know you all that well, or for that long. But there's something about you, James. Like… like I always knew you, trusted you before we even met." Phil looked down at his clasped hands, thumbs rubbing against each other in his nervousness. "Just… think about it."

There was silence for a few minutes. And then James stood abruptly.

"I want to go now," he said.

"James, you don't have to—"

"I know."

"…Is it me?"

"Yes." Phil flinched at the blunt honesty. "And me. I must not get close."

"To me?"

"Anyone. That's how you get… get…"

"Hurt?" Phil asked softly. James nodded jerkily.

"So I have to leave."

"Please, pretend I didn't say anything about a key. I only want to help you, James." Phil followed him to the door, where James finally paused, hand on the doorknob. "You've suffered some kind of trauma. I know you have."

"I suppose this is hard to miss," James said, shrugging his metal arm. Phil went to touch it, but James backed off. Trying to swallow back the hurt, Phil went to his fridge, and grabbed a business card.

"Here," he said. "His name is Sam Wilson. He works with returned soldiers. He could help you. Even if you weren't in the military, he'll know someone you can talk to. Please take this."

James accepted the card, and shoved it into his back jeans pocket. He met Phil's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Phil," he said. "I…"

"Don't explain," Phil said, and he twisted the handle. "My door will always be open to you, James. I'm your friend, whether you like it or not." He winked to mask the pain, and opened the door. "And your refuge. Okay?"

James nodded, and then ducked out the door without another word. Phil listened to his feet pounding down the stairs until the sound faded away. Then he closed the door firmly, and tried to fight the feeling that he'd never see his James again.

"Except he was never my James," he murmured.

It was stupid to get attached, especially to a vagrant with a dark past and unresolved issues.

Phil sighed, and turned off the television. Early to bed tonight.

* * *

Even driving safely, Steve and Clint got back to the tower before the others. They waited outside for the car to catch up, Clint snuggling against Steve's back. His eyes wandered, until they locked on a potential threat. Someone leaning against a tree, cloaked in darkness where he/she stood. He stiffened, and carefully climbed off the motorbike.

"What's up?" Steve asked. Clint shushed him.

"There's someone over there," he said. "I'm gonna call the others."

"Too late," Steve said, pulling out his phone as it vibrated in his pocket. "Someone's already calling us."

"Who?"

"Sam."

Clint nodded, gaze still fixed on the figure across the street. Steve spoke with Sam, but Clint didn't pay any mind to the half-conversation. He waited until Steve hung up.

"Someone wants to talk to Sam," he said. "He got the number from somewhere, and needs help. Sam told him to meet here. I guess it's more secure."

"At this time of night?" Clint said.

"Providing help is as much a twenty-four hour thing as needing help," Steve said. He squinted at the shadows. "Someone's definitely there?"

"Of course."

"Hawkeye's the right name for you. I can't see anyone."

The car soon parked beside them. Sam was the first one out.

"Any sign of him?" he asked. Clint pointed. "Thanks."

"You're not going there by yourself?" Steve asked. Sam rolled his eyes.

"You'd follow without asking," he said. "But don't, Steve. If this really is a cry for help, you're not gonna make things any better trailing behind me. I've gotta do this by myself. It's what I'm qualified to do."

"I'm taking the car in," Tony said, poking his head out the window. "Rogers, wanna take your bike inside?"

"I'll stay here," Clint said. "Have Sam's back."

"Okay," Steve said, sounding far from okay with it. "I'll be right back." Even then, he didn't move. Not until Sam was across the road without trouble. Then he turned.

"Steve!"

"I knew it," he muttered, and he took off across the road without looking. At that time of night there was little traffic, but he still had to leap around a couple of cars. Clint swore, and ran after him, far more agile in dodging moving vehicles.

"The hell, Rogers?" he said. But Steve had pulled the stranger into a bear hug, which was slowly reciprocated. The steel arm glinting in the light was a pretty big clue to the man's identity, although the swell of jealousy didn't ebb right away. Things were still new between him and Steve, and if this was Bucky Barnes, that would all have to be shoved aside for… who knew how long?

"Don't worry," Sam said, patting him on the shoulder. "He needs my help at the moment. You just be there for Steve."

* * *

**Oops. Longer chapter, lots of Bucky/Phil. Possibly straying from the prompt. I can only excuse myself by claiming that prompts are starting points, and that I'm a shameless (and shameful) slasher.**


	4. Chapter Four

"Chapter Four"

The Avengers didn't see much of Bucky, since he spent most of his time with Sam, attending meetings, volunteering at an animal shelter which had flooded and was fundraising for repairs, and talking over coffee. Evenings were spent in the corner of the common area while the others watched TV. Steve started to join them for coffee sometimes, eventually dragging Clint along.

Clint also managed to drag Steve away for movies and dinner and actual dates, just the two of them. Steve kept apologising; Clint assured him that he'd wait forever if he had to.

"You're worth it, Cap," he said, burrowing into his side while they sat side-by-side on a park bench. They'd just had lunch at The Everything Diner, and Steve was absently rubbing Clint's belly. It tickled a little, but Clint was good at suppressing his tickle reflex, painfully aware of how it could be used for actual torture. He shivered.

"I think I love you," Steve said. His cheeks reddened as Clint gave him a look of amusement. "You know… in that way."

"You're adorkable, you know that?"

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome. And I'm counting on it."

"On…?"

"You loving me." Clint snuggled closer. "I'm counting on it, Steve. I need it." When he noticed Steve eyeing him, he stopped teasing. "Love you, too." He kissed Steve's jaw. "It was a new level of hell, waiting for you to make a move. You can be completely oblivious."

"Not as bad as Sam, with Darcy."

"Yes, as bad as Sam with Darcy."

Steve humphed. Clint smirked.

* * *

Phil hadn't even noticed that Captain America and Hawkeye had been there until he heard the others talking about it that night. He was too busy worrying. There'd been no word from James, nothing at all, and the thought that something could've happened to him was petrifying. When he got home, and there was still no sign of James, he made up his mind, and made the call.

"Rosalie?" he said. "This is Phil Coulson."

"Phil! How's the heart going?"

"Pretty well," he said. Well, it was physically functioning. "You?"

"Still run off my feet with the patients here. I was seconded to paediatrics for a couple of months, and only got back to this ward a fortnight ago."

"Miss the kids?"

She chuckled. "Not yet."

"Listen, remember how you offered to do anything for me?"

"You were off your face on painkillers."

"But I remember your promise, so it counts."

Rosalie sighed. "What can I do for you?"

"I made friends with… I got to know this man who I think is homeless, and I haven't heard from him in weeks. I'm worried that something might've happened, and no one would know to contact me."

"What's his name?"

"James."

"James…?"

"That's the only name he gave me."

"Physical description?"

"Would it help if I said that he has a metal arm?" She was silent. "Left arm."

"…Yeah, that helps."

"Dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes… really blue…"

"Uh-oh," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. "I'll see what I can do for you, Phil. Same phone number?" He rattled it off. "Great. I'll call you back."

"I won't be able to sleep until you do."

"Then I'll make it quick. Gotta help you look after that heart, haven't I?"

"Technically no longer your job," he said. "But thank you, Rosalie. I knew there was a reason you were my favourite."

Half an hour later, he got a call back. There'd been no patients matching James's description admitted to any hospitals in the state of New York, either as a patient or an addition to the morgue. Phil thanked Rosalie again, and hung up.

Then he sank onto the sofa, leaving James's space free, and hugged a cushion to his chest. The association with hospitals had left his scar aching again.

* * *

"Hey, Leo," Clint said, relaxing back in his chair.

"Did you enjoy your date the other day?"

"Very much," Steve said, cheeks slightly pink.

"You've been sneaking here without us?" Tony said, scowling. "Not cool, guys."

"But they like us here," Clint said, pointing at him. "We know we're safe here. Besides, it's only been a few times. Mostly we stick near the tower."

"In case there's a call to assemble," Steve elaborated.

"And it wouldn't be much of a date if you were with us, Stark."

"Any special drinks?" Leo asked. "I see you've brought two new friends with you."

"Actually, this one's a friend from a long way back," Steve said, beaming at Bucky. "Bucky, this is Leo. Leo, Bucky Barnes."

"Really?" he said, eyes growing wide. "You're alive?"

"Just about," Bucky said.

"Wow. Phil will be glad to hear that."

"H-he will? Why?"

"Because you're Bucky Barnes," Leo said, waving his notepad. "Famous sniper, member of the Howling Commandoes, best friend of Captain America. Considering Phil's a fan of all things Cap… uh." He turned beet red, and grabbed the pencil from behind his ear. "Anyway. Drinks?"

They placed their order, which wasn't much different from the other times. Wine, since it was dinner; various sodas and juices; and water, of course, which Lance had already provided. Even without Thor, Jane, and the others, they were still a big crowd. And Fury had joined them for the first time. He ordered a Coke, glaring at anyone who tried to mock him for only drinking soda. It was enough of a reminder that he was the director of a spy organisation, and would need a clear head at all times.

"I've heard a lot about this place," he said as Skye placed his drink in front of him. "I hope it lives up to my expectations."

"I'm sure it will, sir," she said, grinning. "We have the best chefs in New York working here every day. And these guys have become regulars just because of Phil."

"Not _just_ because of him," Pepper said.

"He's a pretty big part of it, though," Natasha muttered. She had stopped hanging out in the kitchen now, trusting the staff not to poison them. And if anyone tried, they wouldn't get very far.

"Can you get Phil to come out here and meet Bucky?" Steve asked. "Please, Skye?"

"I'll see," she said, and she chewed her lower lip. "Except…"

"Except what?"

"He's been kinda depressed for… I guess a couple of months? But it's been worse the last three weeks or so. And he was happier than usual before that. If we didn't all know he was single, I would've said he'd been dumped." She huffed a sigh, and then suddenly smiled. "But I bet he'll be happy to meet _the_ Bucky Barnes."

"I don't know about that," Bucky said, hanging his head.

"Sure he will! I'll go ask him to come out here. It's not too busy at the moment. Oh! Decided on what to eat yet?"

"Give us a minute," Fury said. She swallowed, and quickly nodded.

"Yep," she said. "I'll definitely do that. Be back soon." Then she hurried off. Pepper gave Fury a look.

"Don't intimidate the staff," she said. "They like us. We don't want to find a new place to eat."

"God forbid," he said dryly.

A minute later, Skye returned. They were finally ready to place their orders, and she took them down, frowning all the while.

"So where's Phil?" Happy asked. She averted her eyes.

"He's not coming," she said. "It's not like he's crying into the soup or anything; he wouldn't do that. Well, not literally. But he said he'd just prefer to get on with making food. Despite the fact that Jemma and Trip are _plenty_ capable of dealing with it."

"Ask him again," Fury said. "I'd like to see him."

"…Okay," she squeaked, and she disappeared into the kitchen.

* * *

Inside the kitchen, Phil was chopping cucumbers with none of his usual fire. Skye slammed the piece of paper down on the counter beside Jemma, who jumped.

"What?" she said. "Oh. The Avengers' order?"

"Yeah," Skye said, but she wasn't looking at Jemma. "Phil? Seriously, you've gotta come out."

"Skye—"

"There's this scary-looking dude out there with an eye-patch, and I think he could snap Mack like a twig. I don't want to tell him that you're not gonna show your face. Please? I don't wanna die young."

Phil sighed, and hung up his apron. "Okay. I'll go."

"Yes! Thank you, PC."

"Go back to work. I won't be long," he added. Trip and Jemma just nodded and got on with arranging the order.

Phil tried not to trudge along; it wouldn't look very professional. He approached the table, half-smiling at the enthusiastic greetings, and immediately noticed the man Skye had been referring to.

And recognised him at once.

"Sir!" he said, and he nearly saluted. Nick shook his head.

"At ease, Coulson," he said. Phil barely registered everyone else's jaws dropping.

"What're you doing here?" Phil said. Nick raised his eyebrow, and Phil could've kicked himself. "I mean, obviously you're here to eat. But… what are you doing now, I guess is what I'm asking."

"Work," Nick said. "`Fraid I can't disclose any of it to you, Cheese."

"Cheese?" Tony said.

"Never ask," Phil said. "Not if you want to keep coming back to this place." Tony made a zipping motion across his mouth. "It's great to see you again, sir."

"Knew who you were as soon as Hill told me about you."

"That would explain why his file's classified," Clint whispered to Natasha. Phil cleared his throat, and looked down.

"Well, I'd better get back to work," he said. "I'm sure you know where to find me."

"Always," Nick said. "You haven't met Barnes yet, have you?"

"No," Phil said. There was something familiar about the mop of brown hair in front of him, and he stepped to the side to see better.

Sgt. Bucky Barnes looked decidedly sheepish when he finally raised his head.

"James!" Phil blurted out.

"Hi, Phil," James – well, Bucky – said. "Uh, surprise?"

He fished for words. "Well… well, it's good to know you're still alive! I had a friend checking hospital records to find out if you'd been admitted or something. I nearly went to the police to file you missing. You can't disappear like that and not expect me to worry."

"…Sorry."

"Wait, you knew each other already?" Steve asked, looking from Phil to Bucky and back again.

"Is this the guy who was giving you food?" Sam said. Bucky nodded, and gave Phil a small smile. He couldn't help but smile back, so much his cheeks ached.

"I am glad you're okay," he said earnestly. "And I knew you'd clean up good…" Then he heard a clatter in the kitchen, and remembered his duties. "Sorry, I have to get back to the kitchen. Bye."

He waved at Fury, and made eye contact with Bucky one last time before returning to his work.

"Phil, I've never seen you smile like that," Jemma said, staring at him while he washed his hands.

"Seen something you like out there?" Trip asked, eyes crinkled at the edges in not-so-hidden amusement.

"Back to work," Phil said instead, and he checked the slip as he tied his apron on. "Three orders of spaghetti carbonara with extra cheese and hot sauce? Well, I can guess who one of those is for." Nick had always liked his food with a kick. Steve was possibly one of the orders; he liked trying new things, and as far as Phil was aware he hadn't had any of their spaghetti before. If so, then Clint might have been the third order. Phil enjoyed guessing what his regulars chose to eat. It kept his skills sharp.

Nick Fury was out there. Nick 'Marcus' Fury. And he worked with the Avengers.

Small world.

And James… was Bucky Barnes. Phil had had no idea. He worked, half in a daze, relying on muscle memory to avoid lopping off his fingers. James… _Bucky_ was out there, with the rest of Phil's best customers. Sitting there, healthier than the last time Phil had seen him… and he'd never sent word that he was okay. Phil had been worried sick, and all the time J— Bucky was fine. Absolutely fine.

It was like those months of friendship meant nothing to him.

That hurt.

With a heartfelt sigh, Phil put that out of his mind, and concentrated on making the best damn spaghetti carbonara of his life. Anything for an old friend, who'd saved Phil's life nearly as many times as Phil had saved his. But then Phil had always been a self-sacrificing, masochistic fool. See: helping Bucky Barnes, and possibly developing a crush on him.

* * *

Tony had that speculative look on his face. Bruce had kept quiet, as usual, preferring just to savour the all-organic meals. On this occasion, he felt obliged to intervene in case his science buddy was planning something stupid, since Rhodey was busy debating over something with Happy, and Pepper was talking to someone on her phone.

"What are you planning?" Bruce asked. "Tony?"

"Hmm?" Tony snapped out of it. "What?"

"Don't play dumb. What were you thinking about?"

Tony grinned widely. Another dangerous sign. "Why, what makes you think—"

"Tony."

The grin faded into something less sinister. "Skye told us that Phil's single."

"…You're in a stable relationship—"

"Not thinking about me, Brucey. Just thinking about Phil."

"Uh-huh? It can't be anything innocent."

"Of course not. This is me."

"…My silence is your cue."

"Okay, well, I've got it all figured out," Tony said, leaning forward in his chair and lowering his voice. He seemed to have forgotten that Fury was there, but Bruce noticed that they'd had his attention since Phil was mentioned.

"What've you got figured out?" Bruce said.

"We all love this place, right?"

"Yes."

"I figure that if Phil starts dating one of you, we'll get this stuff for free!"

Fury cleared his throat significantly. "No, Stark. That won't happen. Coulson's too professional for that."

"Well, we'll at least get a discount."

"By all accounts, you already get star treatment, and you don't need a discount. You can more than afford it alone, Stark, never mind when all of you chip in."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Okay, but it'd still be convenient to hook Phil up with one – or two – of us. Nope." He held up a hand. "My mind's made up. It's my duty, as a friend, to un-single Phil."

Bruce buried his head in his hands, and really hoped that Fury wasn't so close to Phil that he'd duel Tony to defend Phil's honour.

* * *

**Starting to return to the original point of the prompt. *Face-palm***

**Because we know that Phil's ex-military, and his file is classified thanks to SHIELD. So of course he knows Nick Fury.**

**And Bruce watches 'Supernatural'. Apparently.**

**Anyway. Please to be reviewing!**


	5. Chapter Five

"Chapter Five"

JARVIS displayed all the records Tony had been able to find, and the billionaire scrolled through them two at a time, searching for anything that could help.

"I thought you weren't gonna hack the diner's computer system," Natasha said when she entered the room. Tony waved a hand dismissively.

"I never said that," he said.

"So what is the purpose of all this?" she asked, indicating the screens.

"Tony's trying to find out Phil's 'type'," Rhodey said. He was watching with lazy amusement, feet up on the table. Natasha smacked them with a ruler Steve had left nearby, and Rhodey quickly moved his feet to the floor.

"It spoils the finish, and is bad for your back," she said.

"Why, because you'll beat me up in the ring for marring the varnish?"

"No," she said, tilting her head with a frown. "You have terribly posture for a military man."

"Hey, I'm on holiday," he said, shrugging. He grinned. "You're observant, Ms. Romanov. What do you think Phil's type could be?"

She arched an eyebrow. "And take the fun out of it for you?"

"I can do this!" Tony said. "Just give me a couple of minutes."

Natasha rolled her eyes and sat down, immediately scrolling through her e-reader to find something interesting. Tony hummed, and Rhodey watched him.

"What do we know about Phil?" he said.

"He's the greatest chef in the history of great chefs," Tony said.

"He always has two other people working with him," Natasha reminded them.

"He knows Fury, he's ex-military, and… and he likes superheroes! That'll make it easier. Reckon he's into men or women?"

"From the way you've been talking, it doesn't seem to matter all that much," Rhodey said.

"Yeah, but there are more guys than girls around here," Tony whined. "That makes it harder to find someone if he's straight. There's Natasha and Darcy. Darcy's gone back to London. Say, Romanov, would you—"

"I'm not getting involved in this," she said.

"Then there are SHIELD agents." Tony pursed his lips. "JARVIS, hack into—"

"Do you really want Phil involved with them?" Rhodey asked.

"Not really. They could try to steal him away. Well, plan B. Wait, no. That's not plan B. This is the supplement to plan A. One of the many supplements."

"Please tell me you don't have all this written down somewhere," Rhodey said. "You wouldn't be that anal about it, would you?"

Tony snorted. "When it comes to match-making our boy Phil so that we get extra special treatment from our favourite cook? Hells yeah."

"You're so mercenary," Clint said as he sauntered in. "And not one reference to hypocrisy, or someone will get an arrow in their ass."

"I really wish that was a euphemism, but I think Cap would have a problem with that," Tony remarked. Clint smiled smugly.

"Oh, I think you'll find that he wouldn't," he said. "In fact, he doesn't." Then he sauntered out again, a definite sway to his hips. Rhodey and Tony gaped.

"You really didn't see that coming?" Natasha asked.

"Don't tell me you're so goddamn omniscient," Tony said.

"Well…" She shrugged elegantly. "Perhaps not. It is necessary to give that impression, however. Except when it's the opposite."

"Gotta get you to teach me how to do that," Rhodey muttered.

"So what do you _think_ you know about Phil's tastes?" Tony said.

"Isn't it obvious who he might be interested in?" she said.

"Don't tell me it's Fury, because I'd need to invent brain bleach, and I can't risk hurting this baby." He tapped the side of his head.

"No, clearly you can't afford to lose any more."

Rhodey coughed, and looked between them. "I think she's referring to his reaction… to Bucky?"

"Bingo," Natasha whispered, swiping her e-reader along to the next page.

"Barnes?" Tony said, eyes goggling. "That… kinda makes sense. Sounds like Phil went above and beyond to help him without even knowing the guy all that well, and he smiled like he'd won the lottery just from _seeing_ Barnes… Yeah." He grinned slowly. "You're right. We've gotta get them together. I'm enlisting both of you in this endeavour. And you, JARVIS."

"You'll have to do it without me," Rhodey said. "I'm back on duty in four days, or have you forgotten that?"

"Always abandoning me, honeybear," Tony said with a pout.

"You've got plenty of backup now, Tony. But I expect you to fill me in on any progress," he added, pointing at Tony. "And… when I say 'you', I guess I mean JARVIS."

"Of course, Colonel Rhodes."

"Attaboy."

Natasha snorted delicately.

"You're all children," she said.

"But you'll help, right?" Tony said, looking straight at her. "Natasha?"

Her face softened. "Of course. There's no way they will get there on their own."

* * *

Later, Tony grabbed Steve and pulled him aside while Bucky wasn't around.

"I need your advice," he said.

"My advice? Are you feeling well, Tony?"

"Ha-ha. Really. You gonna become a comedian?"

"What is it?"

"Well… it's about your friend, Barnes."

Steve's brow furrowed. "What about Bucky?"

"I think he likes Phil. _Like_ likes Phil."

"'Like likes'?"

"Has the hots for. A crush, if you will. Point is, I'm getting some of the others together, and we're going to do a bit of matchmaking. As his best friend, we need your input."

"'We' includes…?"

"All the others."

Steve shook his head. "I don't know, Tony. I know Bucky's better now, but forcing him into a relationship—"

"Who said anything about forcing, Capsicle?"

"Please don't call me that."

"What's your real objection?"

"That _is_ my real objection, Tony. I want Bucky to have more time to settle. He's still on edge, and I don't want either of them to get hurt."

Tony frowned. "You think Barnes would hurt him?"

"Not… not physically. And if he had an… episode, I'm sure Phil could handle him."

"This isn't some kind of homophobia, is it?"

"_No_. I believe that everyone should be treated equally, and that love is love. Or have you forgotten that I'm with Clint?"

Tony opened his mouth, and closed it again. "Uh… yeah, kinda forgot that. Look, if it's not that… I don't see why we can't at least nudge them together."

Steve pursed his lips, and exhaled through his nose. "If I agree to this, it's under the _strict_ condition that I get to pull the plug the minute I think it's gonna go wrong. And Sam has that prerogative as well."

"Sure, great, whatever," Tony said, bouncing on his heels. He smiled widely. "I knew I could count on you, Rogers. Wilson's taking him out at four, like usual?"

"For the meeting, yes. I go to the morning ones."

"Then we'll meet in the common room at sixteen hundred hours." He clapped Steve on the shoulder. "Glad we had this conversation. Really." Then he disappeared, leaving Steve a bundle of worry.

He hoped Bucky would be okay.

* * *

Phil looked over the hours roster, and heaved a sigh. If he could rearrange things, he would. He'd been too obvious when he saw J… Bucky again. No, James. He could be James in Phil's head. And damn, it'd been awkward. It hadn't helped that Phil's old commander had been there, and both were unexpected guests, putting him on edge.

Yes, Phil had always made food for James, but it was different when it was out the back of the restaurant, when he thought that James was homeless, or at Phil's place. Charity was different.

If he could liken this situation to a fairytale, he would be the servant who fell for a prince-in-disguise, and ended up serving the very same prince in the palace. Less tray-dropping, thankfully. But going from helping someone perceived to be less fortunate, to serving that someone instead… He felt deceived, and foolish. And he wished he'd never started feeding James. Then he would have been just another legend back from the dead, part of a superhero team and out of Phil's reach. Where he could have had a chance – even the slightest chance – before, it was hopeless. James… no, he had to be Bucky, or Sergeant Barnes. He was way out of Phil's league now.

But he could still dream.

Phil's shoulders slumped, and he texted Melinda to ask whether she'd be willing to swap a couple of days with him. She replied with a list of times she was willing to change, and he quickly wrote them on the board. It would be good for her to spend some time working with Trip and Jemma, and it would be good for Phil to spend more time with Mack and Leo in the kitchen.

It had nothing to do with minimising his contact with the Avengers and their friends. Nope. Nothing to do with it at all.

"That's done," he said. "They won't notice a change of staff. Natasha doesn't even bother coming into the kitchen anymore."

He did kind of miss her presence, truth be told. That corner felt empty without her to fill it. And he'd miss whipping up larger portions for Thor. And asking Lance to describe Steve's reactions to everything new. But it was better this way. They'd probably think he was a creepy stalker if he found excuses to look at or visit their table while James was there, and it had taken a long time for Natasha to come to trust them.

So Phil hoped and waited for Fury's call. He needed something to distract himself, and meeting up with an old friend was something he didn't get the chance to do.

His watch beeped, and he checked the time. It was late. The others had all gone. It was time to go home.

As he climbed into his gorgeous cherry red car, he never noticed someone watching him from the darkness.

* * *

There was a press conference held to reveal Bucky's return, and officially declare him an honorary Avenger. Bucky was wearing long sleeves, which he justified by claiming that it was cold. Only his metal hand was visible, and he wouldn't be waving it around. If anyone noticed it, the story was that he was injured in the line of duty. And, much like Steve, he had been frozen in time, having also been imbued with something like the super soldier serum.

It had a basis in the truth, close enough that no one was likely to forget it. They would just conveniently leave out that he'd been a weapon for HYDRA for seventy-odd years. With a haircut and no mask, he looked close enough to the old pictures for people not to question his veracity.

Few people had seen the Winter Soldier and lived to tell, which… was only slightly comforting. Those in the know tried not to dwell on it.

"Are you ready for this?" Sam asked, holding Bucky's shoulder.

"No. But it must be done."

"If you want to reschedule it—"

"That would not be right," he said. "I would prefer to get this over with."

"Okay, Bucky. I'll be right by your side, and so will Steve."

"Mmm-hmm."

The press knew why they were there; the rumours had been persisting for a week. As soon as Steve walked out, followed by Bucky, there was a wall of sound as photographs were snapped and hands shot into the air. Bucky tensed at the lights and sudden movements, but didn't run, despite his long-engrained instincts to defend himself or escape.

"We're here," Sam murmured.

Bucky, Sam, and the Avengers (minus Thor) sat at the long table. Security from Stark Industries kept people from rushing towards the stage, and Bucky hoped that he would remember to thank Pepper Potts for organising it. Tony had the most experience in fielding questions, and someone handed Bucky a microphone. Sam showed him where to switch it on.

"Mr. Barnes," a reporter began.

"Sergeant," he said.

"Sorry. Sergeant Barnes, when exactly did you re-enter society?"

"I don't remember _exactly_, because I was disoriented for a long time. How would you define re-entering society?"

"Finding Captain America again."

"A while ago," Bucky said. He knew they were supposed to ask questions; but if they were going to be invasive, he was going to be contrary. "It was night-time. Is that exact enough?" He heard Steve snort.

"Next question," Tony said. He picked a woman this time.

"Sergeant Barnes, how have you adjusted to the twenty-first century?" she asked.

"By reading and watching, and with help from my… friends."

"What do you mean, 'reading and watching'?"

"What I said. Reading words and watching actions. And listening to sounds."

"I actually meant how you feel about all of it," she clarified. "Not the methods."

"Oh, the _other_ 'how'," he said, giving her his most innocent look. He could tell that Steve was trying desperately not to laugh. It almost felt familiar. "I've learnt how to use a TV remote. Cars are more comfortable, even though they still can't fly." There was some laughter from the crowd, and he grinned. "And civil rights. Those are my favourites. Although the Harry Potter movies are running a close second. And bisexuality is a thing. I didn't know that."

"Next question!" Tony said loudly, speaking above the noise of the crowd as they discussed this latest development. "C'mon, people! Anyone would think you didn't know squat about Greek history." They began to quiet down again. "Okay. Next question, and don't make me repeat myself."

"Sergeant Barnes, are _you_ bisexual?"

"Hey, that's enough—"

"Can I only support bisexuals by being one?" Bucky asked, interrupting Tony's defensive tirade. They fell silent. "I guess I can't support women's rights unless I'm female, or African-American's rights unless I'm black? I can say that, can't I?" he whispered to Sam, who nodded, bemused. "But, since you asked so _nicely_," he smiled shark-like, "then yes. I probably am bisexual. Or would be, given the opportunity. But I don't see that as a big deal. This is the twenty-first century. There are still bigots out there, yet this is _the twenty-first century_. I don't understand why these problems still exist. War can be declared overnight, but you can't fix society in seventy years?" No one replied. "Well, any more questions?"

There were some less invasive questions after that; anytime someone tried to be clever, Bucky cut them down skilfully. Steve elbowed him, giving him a look of pride, and Sam patted him on the back afterwards.

"I think you're nearly back," he said. "Steve?"

"The Bucky from before is still in there," Steve agreed. "I think maybe you should speak for me at press conferences in the future. I make a real hash of them."

The others congratulated Bucky, and they all took off for The Everything Diner, making sure that they weren't followed. It was one of Phil's days, part of the reason they'd arranged for the conference that day. Lance raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment as he showed them to their usual long table.

"I'll grab water for you," he said. "Is this brunch?"

"Yeah, we've been busy this morning," Clint said. "Say, is Phil able to come out?"

"…Not today," Lance said.

"Why not?" Pepper asked. "Isn't he working today?"

"He should be," Natasha said.

"No. Melinda is on today."

"Why?" Bucky said. "Is he sick?"

Lance shook his head. "They've swapped some of their shifts. Skye will be over to take your drinks order soon. I'll just get that water."

Natasha swore in Russian. "I'll have to memorise the new timetable."

"Why would they want to move things around?" Clint asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Bucky just stared at the tablecloth, and didn't say a word.

* * *

**Review, please! I need reviews to justify writing fan fiction, and consequently my main hobby.**


	6. Chapter Six

"Chapter Six"

Because Tony was a stalker-ish troll like that, he had already found out when and where Phil did his grocery shopping, and arranged it so that he was driving with Steve and Bucky in that vicinity one day. He was about to pass the store when he 'remembered' something he'd forgotten to order online, and pulled in to the parking lot. He was pleased to see Phil's car there, and hoped that neither Steve nor Bucky recognised it, considering that it was pretty distinct.

Going by the suspicious look Bucky shot him, it seemed that Tony was going to be rumbled in the next two minutes.

Well, it was all in the name of love.

"Okay, where's a list of what's in each aisle?" Steve said, looking around.

"No, Steve, that's no fun," Tony said, grabbing his arm. "I might see something else I've forgotten."

"Why wouldn't it be on your usual order?"

"Because… someone said something about wanting to try baking. I think. So we need ingredients." He was walking them along the ends of the aisles, looking for… "Hey, isn't that Phil?"

"No, it's… oh, yeah, it is," Steve said, perking up, and he waved. "Phil!"

Phil looked up, and his jaw dropped when he saw them. Gathering himself together pretty damn quickly, he pushed his trolley in their direction, pausing a couple of times to grab things off the shelf. Bucky skittered out of the way of other shoppers, whereas Tony seemed to have no problem in letting everyone move around him. Steve eventually had to yank him into the aisle, and smiled awkwardly when Phil met them.

"Hi, Phil," he said.

"Hello," Phil said, eyeing each of them. He averted his gaze nearly as soon as he met Bucky's eyes. "What brings you here?"

"Tony needed some things for baking."

"What are you looking for?"

"Oh, uh, you know… the usual," Tony said. "Eggs… no, we've got eggs. And some other things. Barton makes pancakes, you know."

"No, I didn't know," Phil said, glancing at Steve. Steve just looked baffled.

"Does he?" he asked.

"Yes, he does," Tony said, trying to give him a look to say 'play along'. "I can't remember what else goes in the recipe."

"What's the recipe?" Phil asked.

"Uh…"

"Mr. Stark, do you have any clue about baking? At all?"

"…No? But it's not for me. It's for someone else on the team."

Phil looked at him sharply, examining him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Just to be on the safe side, maybe you should get one of each types of flour, and sugar, and baking soda and baking powder, and extra eggs… and make sure that you get all-organic, because Dr. Banner prefers that."

Tony coughed. "Anyway. What a coincidence, seeing you here. I didn't know you lived in the area."

"I don't. It's just on the way home." Which Tony already knew, but then he was Tony Stark. Creator of JARVIS. "I'm surprised you wouldn't just place an express order on your phone for your nearest supermarket. It might even beat you back."

"That would just be doing the logical thing," Steve said, his eyes suddenly narrowed as he looked at Tony. Tony's innocent look wasn't as good as Bucky's.

"It was spur-of-the-moment," he claimed.

Phil scoffed softly, and then finally looked at Bucky again. "How are you doing, J— Sergeant Barnes? Settling in? Eating more?" Bucky nodded. "I'm glad to see you so well. You had me worried for a long time, and not just after you dropped out of contact."

"Phil, I haven't had a chance to thank you yet, for looking after Bucky," Steve said, and he held out his hand. Phil froze, and then shook it.

"That's okay, Captain Rogers," he said. "I would've done the same for anyone else. It's just the decent thing to do." Bucky hung his head as Phil and Steve let go. "Knowing me, I probably asked myself 'What Would Captain America Do?'"

Steve laughed. "Well, thanks for taking care of him," he said. "Without your friendly face, he might never have approached us."

"I, uh…" Bucky scuffed one boot on the floor. "I used the card Phil gave me, with Sam's number on it."

Phil smiled gently. Bucky peered at him, and gave a small smile in return.

"Take care of yourself," Phil said. He tightened his grip on the trolley handle. "Mr. Stark, baking items are in the previous aisle. You must have missed them."

He nodded to Steve and Bucky, and went on his way, while Tony coughed into his fist under Steve's stern gaze.

But later on, the captain had to admit that Bucky seemed better around Phil. Shy (which Steve had never seen from his friend before), but also like a flower starting to open up. Maybe matchmaking would be the right move after all?

* * *

Natasha went to The Everything Diner to have dinner by herself, after completing a mission. It involved recovering a hard drive with vital information, which had been stolen; but fortunately, not yet hacked. How someone had managed to steal it in the first place was anyone's guess. However, it was no longer Natasha's responsibility. She had put it in Nick Fury's hands, filed her report, and decided that she would prefer to eat alone tonight.

"Just you?" Bobbi asked. Natasha jerked her head in the affirmative. "Water?"

"Please."

"Anything else?"

"No. I'm driving." And she half-smiled.

Bobbi laughed softly, and gave her a menu. "Water it is. Won't be long."

"Thank you."

When she was ready, Jemma took her order. Natasha stopped her before she could leave.

"Is Phil here tonight?" she asked. "I believe he's changed his days."

"Only some of them," Jemma said. "He isn't here tonight."

"Are these new _regular_ hours?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Because I need to… I'd like to know his new hours."

"Do you not like Melinda's cooking?"

"It's nothing to do with her," Natasha said. Not anymore, it wasn't. "It's because Stark came up with an idea."

"Oh?"

"He wants to set Phil up with someone, and for his matchmaking to work, we need to know when Phil is on duty here."

"Oh!" Jemma nodded, beaming. "That sounds marvellous! I must tell the others."

"Not if they can't keep their mouths shut," Natasha emphasised.

Jemma shook her head. "No, of course not. I'll write down the new timetable for you as soon as I get the chance."

Natasha watched as Jemma bounced off in her perky way. She rarely used the word 'adorable', yet it suited the wait-staff here.

She hummed, checking the messages on her phone. Mostly updates from Clint on his relationship with Steve, questions from Steve on what to do with Clint, and a few other texts she had been unable to access while working. She replied now, condensing her messages to Clint and Steve, and then tucking her phone away to put them all out of her mind.

"Here you are," Jemma said, dropping a piece of paper on Natasha's plate. It was a roughly drawn-up table with 'PC' marking each of the times that Phil was on, and 'MM' for Melinda's shifts. "I hope it helps."

"It does," Natasha said. "Thank you, Jemma."

The waitress's smile grew bigger, and she rocked back on her heels.

"Always happy to help you," she said, before hurrying to another table. Natasha shook her head, amused, and returned to memorising the staff roster.

* * *

Bucky played with his soup. It wasn't as good as Phil's. Then again, it came from a tin, and Phil was an actual chef, so there wasn't really a basis for comparison. Nevertheless, he tried to pretend that it filled the hole inside of him.

He was sitting in a state-of-the-art private kitchen, eating soup with real silverware from a real china bowl, only a room away from the world's largest television, in a clean, air-conditioned building watched over by miles of sentient coding. His best childhood friend was happy and healthy and in a steady relationship. Bucky himself had support, comfort, and endless food. He could study if he wanted to, even by correspondence. He'd probably join SHIELD, but it was nice to have options.

He had all this. And all he dreamed about was an ill-lit space behind a restaurant, the stoop of an apartment building, a small sofa in front of a normal-sized television.

All he dreamed about was the man he associated with these places.

'_I would've done the same for anyone else_'. In other words, Bucky wasn't special. He'd made Phil feel so awkward that the man changed the days he worked at The Everything Diner. He barely looked at Bucky when they bumped into each other at the supermarket (and he refused to believe that it was a coincidence). Would it have made a difference if Bucky told him who he was from the start? If he'd let Phil know that he was okay?

It was done now. Things couldn't go back to being the same. They hadn't been equal before; Bucky had pretty much been homeless, and Phil was a chef at a successful restaurant. Now Bucky was sitting at a table, being served by Phil's co-workers, and… it felt like a role reversal. He didn't like it. He wanted them to be equals.

Not that Bucky would've had a chance, anyhow. He was a mess. An unemployed former killing machine, who had worked – killed – for Captain America's enemy. All of Sam's meetings still couldn't help Bucky believe that anyone would want him as a friend, let alone something more. Anyone who considered him a friend was obviously the forgiving type, wanting to see the best in everyone. Which probably included Phil.

But Bucky couldn't see anything happening there.

He nearly splashed his soup when he dug his spoon into the thin liquid, misjudging his strength. He dropped the cutlery with a clatter, spattering some of the tomato broth onto the tabletop. It should have reminded him of blood, even though it wasn't the same colour, although close in consistency. Instead, all he could see was mediocre soup, and that it would never be as good as Phil's.

Nothing would.

* * *

"Sir," Phil said, shaking Fury's hand. He snorted.

"Call me Nick," he said. "You earned that right a dozen times over."

"Oh, well," Phil said, ducking his head. "You should call me Phil, by the same token."

"Noted," he said. "Sit down. Let's talk."

Phil perched on the edge of the café seat. They were near Fury's place of work, even though Phil still had no idea what that line of work was. Not military, because Fury wasn't in uniform. Security? But there'd be a uniform with that, too. He wasn't in a suit, so it couldn't have been government. Not unless he was some undercover agent, although Phil wouldn't put it past him. Fury had always had a fascination with the novels of Ian Fleming.

"Still can't tell me what you do?" Phil asked. Fury surveyed him.

"I'll confirm if you can guess right," he said.

"Okay," Phil said, picking up the paper menu. "But coffee first?"

"They're pretty good here. Not as good as the food you can whip up, but coffee is coffee, and it doesn't suck."

"You always had high standards." Fury chuckled. "Cake?"

"Now, that'd just spoil the image," Fury said.

"Not even chocolate mud?"

"…Maybe chocolate mud."

"I'll go place an order," Phil said, a twinkle in his eyes. "Strong black with two shots of syrup, cream on the side?"

"Your memory, Phil…"

He shrugged. "You love my memory."

"That I do. Get going."

Phil went and ordered their drinks, mud cake for Fury, and vanilla cheesecake for himself. It was pay at the end, so he took the number back to the table and placed it where the waiters could see it. Then he turned back to Fury.

"Are we being bugged?" Phil asked. Fury's lips twitched.

"You were always the smart one," he said. "I've got this." He held up a small device with a button, and pressed it. There were a couple of beeps nearby. "No more bugs."

"Fascinating," Phil said, staring at it until Fury had tucked it back inside his coat. "I'm guessing you're a spy of some kind. Field, or you'd be in uniform or a suit. CIA?" Fury shook his head. "Some other spy agency?"

"You're good."

Phil shrugged. "Maybe. Would I have heard about your people?"

"I doubt it, though you've met some of them."

He thought swiftly. "At The Everything Diner. With the Avengers and their friends."

"Mmm-hmm."

"This is you, so you've gotta be high up on the pecking order." Another nod. "Head of the organisation?"

"It's called SHIELD," Fury said. "I'm the director. Any people who'd be bugging us would already know that."

Phil studied him. "And anyone who could send me to have coffee with you."

"What can I say? I'm a cynical guy."

"I'd be insulted if you weren't suspicious of me," Phil said. Finally, their cakes arrived, and the coffee soon after. They remained silent for a few minutes, blowing on hot drinks and starting on the melt-in-the-mouth slices.

"Told you they were good here," Fury said. Phil rolled his eyes affectionately.

"I'm curious," he said. "Why are you telling me all this? You could've deflected, or claimed that it was classified. It's been a long time since we saw each other, and while we were good friends, almost like brothers, we haven't kept in touch. What's your endgame here?"

"I'm wondering about you and Barnes."

"James? I mean, Bucky? Why would you be wondering about us?"

"Is there an 'us'?"

Phil sighed, and sat further back. "No."

"Even though you want there to be?"

"Yeah. I'm hardly subtle about it."

"Colour me surprised, Cheese."

He gave Fury a withering look. "What about us, or the lack thereof?"

"How's he adjusted, compared to when you first met him? Does he seem all that different? C'mon, don't purse your lips like that."

"How do you expect me to react? That's personal, Nick. He… he was starved, mistrustful, and believed that everyone was after him. I'm sure he was still like that when he approached Sam."

"Yet apparently he also didn't shut up about the one person who'd been kind to him, giving him food and help," Fury said. A piece of cheesecake nearly fell out of Phil's mouth, and he quickly swallowed it down a suddenly-thick throat.

"Oh," he said eloquently.

"You might not think you had much of an impact on him, but I'm pretty damn sure you saved his life, on more than one level."

Phil patted his lips after he'd consumed the last bite of cake. "So you want to know all this why?"

"Because he could still be unstable, and if you're a stabling influence…"

"Then you want to utilise me if necessary."

"Right."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"One day you might not have a choice," Fury said. "Put it this way, Phil. If it was to help him, would you do it?" Phil nodded without hesitation. "I thought so."

"Don't… please don't tell him."

"Oh my God, this is like grade school," he muttered. "I won't go blabbing to your boy about your crush. You have my word on that, Phil."

"I'd ask 'on point of torture', but that could really happen to you, couldn't it?"

Fury changed the subject.

* * *

**Oops. Went longer than I meant to. Erm, yes. I figured that if Fury was going to cave to any kind of baked good, it would have to be chocolate mud cake. It's a manly kind of cake. At least that's what he can say if anyone asks. :P**

**Review, por favor! It keeps me going, especially when I'm writing obscure pairings.**


	7. Chapter Seven

"Chapter Seven"

Savage, large feral cats had been loosed on the population of Long Island. Law enforcement had managed to drive them East, but someone was controlling the fifty-odd felines, someone using magic, and the cats were initially thought indestructible. It took an hour before the Avengers figured out that if they drove the creatures into the water and then electrocuted them, they burst into dust which quickly blew away in the wind. Their creator was being trailed by SHIELD agents, the ones who hadn't been using their tasers to help Iron Man with the electrocution, since Thor was still in London.

After everything, even Tony didn't have the energy to crack pussy jokes.

Steve, Sam, and Natasha had sustained scratches and bites, Tony had been batted around by some of the bigger felines, so he had bumps and bruises, and Bruce was working with the medical crew to make sure that there were no infections. He'd had to stay away, in case any of the cats bit the Hulk and became radioactive. Bucky was wearing his usual body armour, which was nearly impenetrable, and he'd managed to get away with little damage to his arm. But then he'd gone into the fight with guns blazing, and used his arm almost like a shield. Bruce checked him out anyway, but there seemed to be nothing wrong.

By the time they staggered back into the tower, it was too late to be going out somewhere. Steve was already healing, pacing back and forth as he waited to hear from Clint, one of the agents sent after the Cat Controller, as they were calling her.

"Bucky," Tony moaned, throwing himself onto the couch. "You like us, right?"

"You? Not really."

"That hurts, right here," Tony said, tapping his chest. "You like Steve, then, don't you?"

"What do you want, Stark?" Bucky asked.

"Dinner."

"If you think I'm making you something—"

"Nah, I've seen your attempts at cooking. You suck. I want _real_ food. And some of us are too wounded to leave the tower." He pouted, and Bucky crossed his arms.

"And?" he said.

"So… can you go pick up some food?"

"Have it brought here."

"Noooo, they don't do delivery."

"Who?" Natasha asked sharply, though it sounded like she already knew.

"The Everything Diner," Tony said, all innocence. Bucky was getting tired of that expression. And then the words registered.

"What?" he said. "Why?"

"Just…" Tony dug around in his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. "There's cash. We need food. There are drinks here, but… get something, okay? Bruce can drive you, can't you, Bruceykins?"

"God help me," Bruce muttered. Bucky agreed with the sentiment.

"You're the only one who can do it," Tony said, pointing at Bucky. "Since Coulson's in love with you, and he knows what we like, so he'll be nice."

Bucky felt his cheeks grow hot. He accepted the money, tucking the wallet into his back pocket, and allowed Bruce to steer him out of the room.

"You want to do this?" Bruce asked.

"I have no choice," Bucky said.

"I can go in and buy the food, if you want. Cash doesn't need a signature, and Tony will never know."

His shoulders slumped as they rode the elevator down to the garage. "It will be fine. Phil may not be there."

"According to Natasha's text, he should be," Bruce said, holding up his phone. Bucky groaned, and covered his face. "Relax. We can listen to the radio on the way. We'll call at the halfway point and order something, so that it'll be ready by the time we arrive. Get whatever your favourite is."

"And vegetarian for you," Bucky said. Between the gaps in his fingers, he noticed Bruce smiling widely.

"That's right," he said. "We'll spend up big, since Tony's paying for it." Bucky hid a chuckle. "Well, he's sending us out when we could easily have something delivered."

"But The Everything Diner doesn't deliver."

"No… though I'm sure Phil would make an exception for you." Bucky lowered his hands and gave Bruce a death glare. "For us, I mean. Since we're his best customers." He shrugged easily. "Which car should we take? Tony didn't specify. We could choose whichever one we wanted…"

They exchanged a sly grin. This was why Bucky liked Bruce Banner.

* * *

Grant looked up first, and coughed pointedly. Skye noticed Bucky walk into the restaurant, and immediately buzzed in to the kitchen.

"He's here," she said.

"Who's here?" Phil asked, looking up from the chilli he was working on. He'd just added the last of his secret herb-and-spice mixture, and was ready to resume stirring. But he gave Skye his partial attention.

"Uh… the guy who's here to pick up the order. The pick-up order. You know?" She smiled sweetly, too sweetly. He had every reason to feel suspicious.

"Since when do we do pick-up orders?" he said slowly. Skye backed up a couple of steps.

"The list is there," she said. "Gotta go. Tables to wait. Barman to flirt with."

Phil sighed after she disappeared. "Trip?"

"Busy," Trip replied, indicated the fry-up he was taking care of.

"Jemma?"

"I have to keep an eye on the oven, Phil. Sorry."

Rolling his eyes, Phil checked out the order slip, and packaged all the food which had been prepared and was waiting for distribution. He stacked the boxes, and carried them out to the register, wondering who the hell got special treat…

Oh. Of course the Avengers would get special treatment from his staff.

"Hi," he said.

"Hello, Phil," Bucky said. "Just here to pick up some food?"

"You've come to the right place," Phil said. Leo cleared his throat as he swiftly rang up the total on the cash register, and handed Bucky his change. Phil couldn't look away from the hero, who seemed just as transfixed. It took Bruce joining them, and picking up the boxes, to break the moment. Bucky apologised quietly, and took half of the boxes from the doctor.

"You enjoy the meal, now," Phil said. "Heard you had some trouble on Long Island?"

"It was nothing," Bucky said.

"'Nothing' sure did a number on your arm."

Bucky looked down at the lines of scratched metal, and raised his shoulders.

"Stark will fix it," he said.

"I can do it!" Leo said. Bruce and Bucky looked at him. "I mean, uh, if you had time, and if we had a welder to melt the slivers of metal…"

"There's always the crème brulee blow torch," Phil said without thinking. Bruce looked at Bucky.

"There are some hungry superheroes back home," Bruce said. "I'll take these. I could come straight back for you?"

"No, no," Bucky said. "I'll go with you. It isn't urgent; it's still functional." He moved his arm to demonstrate. Bruce looked mildly irritated, but nodded.

"Okay," he said. "If you want."

"Or Phil could drop you home afterwards," Skye piped up from nearby. She grabbed the bottles of water she'd ostensibly come to fetch. When Phil stared her down, she hurried off to a table on the other side of the restaurant, which was closer to the other water table, giving away that she'd come over just to snoop.

"That's actually a good idea," Bruce said. "Bucky could stay here and eat – he's still got Tony's wallet – Leo could work his mechanical magic, and then Phil can bring you back to the tower."

"I don't think so," Bucky said.

"I don't mind," Phil murmured.

"You see?" Leo said. "I promise, I know what I'm doing."

"He's very good at crème brulee."

"_No_," Bucky said insistently. "The food's getting cold, and I'm tired and hungry. Please, Bruce, let's just go. I don't want to bother anyone."

"It wouldn't be a bother," Phil said. "But… all right. No pushing. Enjoy your dinner."

He returned to the kitchen without another word, mentally calling himself a coward, but… but he had work to do. Hungry customers. Hungry, hungry customers who needed to be fed. Yep.

"You knew," he accused Jemma and Trip.

They suddenly found things to do that involved being on the other side of the kitchen.

* * *

Clint stumbled in while they were eating. Well, Steve wasn't eating, but he was working his way through Tony's scotch. When he saw his boyfriend, he ran over and caught Clint before he could fall to his knees.

"I'm okay," Clint managed. "Just tired. Haven't been able… to get my breath back. Say." He winked. "Wanna help me with that? Actually." He leaned closer. "Your breath smells like a distillery."

"Was the threat neutralised?" Bucky asked. Clint nodded.

"In secure custody," he said. "I've gotta debrief with Sitwell tomorrow."

"But sleep tonight," Steve said.

"Aw, that's no fun."

"Hey," Natasha said, tapping the table with the end of her fork. "Eat, Clint. You too, Steve. You haven't touched the food Bruce and Bucky went out of their way to get."

"You haven't eaten?" Clint said. Steve shook his head.

"I was worried," he replied.

"And… out of their way?"

"Our favourite place," Tony said. He shoved another forkful of mash into his mouth, and spoke around it. "Eat up, Robin Hood."

Clint sighed, but allowed Steve to lead him to the table. "So, was Phil on?"

"Yes," Bruce said when Bucky stayed silent.

"Did you see him?"

"We both did."

"Did… anything happen?"

"Don't bend the cutlery out of shape, Lindsay Wagner," Tony said. Bucky tilted his head, brows furrowing. "_Bionic Woman_? The actress who played her?"

"You're calling me a woman?"

"The Six Million Dollar Man was named Steve."

"Who?"

Tony waved his hand. "Never mind. But Pepper likes the silverware."

Bucky relaxed his grip on his knife and fork. "To answer your question, Clint, nothing happened."

"Except that Bucky refused to stay there and let Leo fix the scratches on his prosthetic," Bruce said. "Phil said he'd be willing to bring Bucky home afterwards, but—"

"It wouldn't be right to impose on him," Bucky said.

"Even though you have before, technically?" Tony asked.

Before Bucky could snap out a retort, Sam brought his fist down on the table.

"That's enough," he said quietly. Tony shut his mouth. "Clint, do you need Bruce to look at you after the meal?"

"Yes," Steve said at the same time that Clint said "No".

"You don't have to be brave," Bruce said. "And it would give me peace of mind to make sure you're okay."

"And what gives you peace of mind keeps the Big Guy calm," Clint said. "Fine."

"And you'll eat something," Steve insisted.

"Yes, dear."

"Who are the Blues Brothers?" Bucky asked out of the blue.

"It's a movie," Tony said. "We've got time. Let's watch it after dinner. JARVIS, have we got it?"

"I will purchase it now."

"Where did you hear about it, Barnes?"

"From… someone."

There was no need to mention Phil's name. It was implied.

* * *

It was meant to be a surprise, which is why the staff at The Everything Diner were sworn to secrecy when Thor, Jane, and Darcy showed up. They'd left Eric back in the UK, along with Ian. It was just a flying visit for Darcy, mainly to see the others, but Jane and Thor were staying for awhile.

"What's been going on?" Darcy asked Bobbi as she seated them. "I guess Phil isn't on today."

"He is, actually," she said. "Menus. I'll just grab some water."

"No rush," Jane said. They waited for Skye to approach, and Darcy repeated her question.

"What _hasn't_ been going on?" Skye said.

"Not another attempted burglary?" Jane asked.

"Not yet. It's just that your friends are trying to match-make Phil and Sergeant Barnes, and it turns out that Phil knows a guy named Nick Fury, and—"

"Sergeant Barnes?" Jane said.

"Yeah. Phil totally has a crush on him, and I think Bucky feels the same way—"

"Bucky Barnes, as in died-a-long-time-ago, best-friend-of-Captain-America, James Buchanan Barnes?" Darcy said, eyes widening.

"You know this man?" Thor asked.

"He's almost as legendary as Steve!" She huffed, sitting back. "We're away for one month—"

"Closer to four, actually," Jane corrected.

"And look at all the stuff that's gone on! Another ex-soldier back from the dead, crushing on Phil, and Stark – it _has_ to be Stark – match-making them."

"You were here for Clint and Steve getting together, weren't you?" Skye said.

"I _told_ you I saw them kissing when we left," Darcy said, pointing at Thor and Jane, "but you never believed me, and neither did Selvig. Who else has got together, Skye? C'mon, no one else thought that this was stuff we needed to know."

"What battles have been undertaken during our absence?" Thor asked.

"Dude, you guys don't have the internet in England?" Skye said, staring at them. "Okay, you know what? Use the wi-fi here to catch up. There's been some action, but you haven't missed out on much. Having a thunder-god would've been useful yesterday, with the big cats, but the problem was dealt with. It helps having Bucky on their side." She bit her lip, and glanced pointedly at the table. "Drinks?"

* * *

"Go on, pick-up boy," Tony said, pointing towards the elevator. "Pick up food. And pick up Phil, while you're at it. We all know you want to."

Bucky made a rude gesture, retracting his hand just as the doors opened, and the travellers returned. Darcy was the first one in, Jane and Thor still holding hands, and she marched over to the others.

"Seriously, you don't know how to email?" she said. "What with people coming back to life? And did someone start spiking food with love potions? Because if you've all hooked up with each other and never thought to _tell_ us—"

"Only Steve and Clint have hooked up," Natasha said.

"Yeah, because no one else is even trying," Clint muttered.

Darcy plonked herself down beside him. "You're telling me everything. Pronto, William Tell."

* * *

**`Cause imagine if everyone had been so caught up in all the drama that they hadn't told Thor and the others about it? And goodness knows Darcy hates being out of the loop. My head canon is that she and Clint would be good friends, and that Darcy would be slightly in awe of Natasha, and maybe have a girl-crush on her.**

**Just thoughts. Please review!**


	8. Chapter Eight

"Chapter Eight"

Darcy approved of Tony's plan to send Bucky for food, but questioned how often they could do that without it becoming suspicious.

"That's why someone always goes with him," Tony said.

"Yes, but it's not exactly subtle," she said.

"What's subtle about match-making?" he asked. She face-palmed.

"You've all been teasing him," she said. "He's getting near the edge. Can't you see it?"

"He's always kind of on edge," Bruce said. "After all he's gone through…"

"Which is why you shouldn't push him, or he'll just go further into denial."

"So what's your suggestion, O Great One?" Tony asked. "I've done the accidental meeting – though that was to get Rogers on our side – and we've been sending Bucky to The Everything Diner."

"Does he see Phil every time?"

"…I don't know."

"He doesn't," Clint said. "He didn't when we were there the other day."

"When were you gonna tell me this?" Tony asked, eyebrows reaching for his hairline.

"When you asked."

"If only it was Christmas," Darcy said. "Then we could totally trap them under the mistletoe."

"That's not subtle, either," Pepper said. "And JARVIS objects to mistletoe."

"I do indeed," JARVIS chimed in.

"We can't trap them in a closet, because we'd need a closet, and Bucky would break out," Clint said. "Unless it was made of diamond, I guess."

"And he probably wouldn't like being trapped like that," Steve said. "And what if Phil hates small spaces as well?"

"No," Darcy said. "Let's change it up. Find an excuse to bring Phil to us."

"How?" Tony asked.

"I already checked with him, and he doesn't do catering," Pepper said. "So we can't bring him on the pretext of a party or meeting."

"Fury?" Darcy suggested. "You said they're besties, right?"

"I don't know how the director feels about us trying to set up his friend with an unstable ex-assassin," Bruce said.

"Well, you won't know unless you ask him."

"Why don't you ask him, Lewis?" Clint asked, grinning. "He's not gonna have one of Thor's friends murdered. Doesn't exactly promote peace between Asgard and Earth."

Darcy turned pale. "Not exactly reassuring, Barton."

"Nah. He'll love you."

* * *

Across the desk sat Nicholas Fury. He stared back at Darcy, who squirmed in her seat.

"Yo," she said. Fury's eye twitched.

"Who let you in here?" he asked.

"That'd be telling, sir."

"You're not at all intimidated by me, are you?"

"Sir, I'm absolutely terrified of you, but the others are making me do this."

His lips twisted into a sinister smile. "Making you do what?

She paused, and then blurted, "It's Barton's fault! A-and, and Banner, `cause he found the place, and Barton made me come here, and I know horrible people!"

"What place is this?" Fury asked. It sounded almost… gentle. Darcy's heart continued to pound.

"T-the Everything Diner," she said. "Your buddy's restaurant. Now he's got a thing for Bucky Barnes, and apparently it's returned, but neither of them are making a move, so Stark wants to set them up together, and his match-making hasn't worked, so they've called _me_ in to get your help. Because if you had me killed – or, I dunno, killed me yourself – it'd be damaging towards Midgard-Asgard peace negotiations, or whatever."

"Hmm. They're not wrong there."

"So… you won't kill me?"

"Why the hell would I kill you?"

She opened and closed her mouth rapidly, before deciding that keeping it shut was unproductive. "Uh…" Way to go, Darce.

"I won't harm a hair on your head," Fury said.

"What about hair anywhere else? Oh!" Her eyes nearly fell out of her head. "Oh, God, no! I didn't…" She covered her face, feeling her cheeks flare up. She heard a muffled sound, and peeked out.

Fury's hand was over his mouth, but she definitely saw his shoulders jumping.

Was he laughing?

"Are you laughing?" she asked.

"No," he said, suddenly the picture of blandness and danger again. "Why does Stark think I'd help him match-make an old friend with the Winter Soldier?"

"The what now?"

"How much have they told you about… where Barnes has been the last seventy years?"

Understanding dawned. "Oh, so that's why they called him the soldier. I thought it was just because he was, ya know, a soldier?" Fury didn't reply. "Well, you should help us because, uh, because Phil… deserves to be happy. And according to Skye, he's pining. So he needs to be cheered up."

"And putting him in awkward situations so that he'll end up in bed with Sergeant Barnes will cheer him up?"

"Hey, great sex can loosen anyone up," Darcy said. "Except asexuals, I guess."

"Moving on," Fury said.

"Look," she said, leaning against the desk. At his frown – probably mild for most people, freaking terrifying on him – she thought better of it. "All we want you to do is find a reason for him to go to Stark Tower, or meet somewhere that isn't his restaurant. I mean, if it's just us going to the diner all the time, we're meeting on his turf. We sort of need to even the score. Or meet in neutral territory."

"…I bet you're wishing you never applied to be Jane Foster's assistant."

"Most of the time I do, yeah," Darcy said, tilting her head. "Then sometimes… I think it was the best decision I ever made."

"How sweet," he said dryly, and she flushed.

"Uh, so… will you help us? For Phil." She smiled sweetly. Fury's expression didn't change.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"…Wait, seriously?"

"Go away, Miss Lewis."

Darcy beamed, and skipped from the office.

* * *

Phil had managed to break himself of the habit of looking for James whenever he went out the back of the restaurant. Yet one day his eyes were drawn to that corner without his permission, and he noticed a box, one of the ones they used for people to take extra food with them. Or, as was becoming a bit too frequent nowadays, when the Avengers sent James to pick up an order for them. He tried not to think about why it was always James who was elected courier.

He approached the box carefully, prodding it with a broom first. When there was no explosion, he set the broom aside and opened the lid.

Inside was a note: 'I can't take any more AC/DC. Next time I need my arm fixed, I will come straight to you.' It didn't need to be signed, and while it was technically meant for Leo, Phil smiled all the same as his heart sped to double time. And it felt like it sort of was for him. After all, this spot didn't mean anything to Leo, not the way it did to Phil.

The note stayed in his mind all that night, and the following. When James next came to The Everything Diner, it was for a meal with the others.

"Go out and say hi," Jemma said, nudging Phil from behind, where he peeked out of the kitchen doors to see the Avengers for himself. James was facing their way, and he looked up as Jemma eventually shoved Phil out. Looking at her, people could be mistaken for thinking that she was petite. But then they'd see her hauling around large pots of minestrone and rethink their initial impression. Phil obediently sidled over to the table, trying to think of an excuse for his presence.

"Recovered from the witch, I see," he said, putting his hands on the backs of Natasha and Pepper's chairs. "What was her name? Aurora?"

"Amora," Thor grumbled. "An old… acquaintance of Asgard."

"James told m… Sergeant Barnes told me about her, when he came for food the other night," Phil explained. He knew better than to hope that no one had noticed his slip-up, and knew that he had to wrap things up quickly. "Just wanted to make sure for myself that you were all right."

"Tell Leo he did a good job with the arm," Tony said. "Almost as good as I could do."

"The only damage to my eardrums was from the sheer amount of talking that boy can manage," James said, smiling slightly. A warm feeling curled into a ball behind Phil's sternum. He rubbed at it absently.

"Enjoy your meal," Phil said, and he headed back into the kitchen. He washed his hands thoroughly again, and began work on dessert for a crowd who came in early. He prepared the base of crumbs, butter, oats, and a touch of icing sugar (his secret ingredient). The soothing lull of familiarity caught up with him, and the three chefs moved around each other with the ease of practise. And then Skye interrupted them with a note.

"It's for you, Phil," she said, holding it up for him to read. His eyes widened, and he blushed. (He would later claim that it was just the heat of the oven, despite being near the freezer when it happened.)

'You look good today. The jeans bring out the colour of your eyes. Bucky.'

After the initial rush of oh-my-God-does-he-really-like-me, Phil brought himself firmly back to reality, and studied the note. Even if James did sign himself as 'Bucky', that definitely wasn't his hand-writing. At least it wasn't the same hand-writing as on the note he'd found out the back. It was clearly someone's idea of a joke.

"Who gave you this?" he asked.

"Bucky Barnes."

"Mmm-hmm. And who was it from _originally_?"

"…You mean it's from someone else?"

"Go back and tell him – _them_ – that I don't appreciate the joke. And throw that out." He nodded at the piece of paper. "Their food is nearly ready. Be prepared to serve it."

"Yes, sir," she mumbled, scrunching up the paper. She tossed it into the nearest bin, and grabbed the first tray of plates Trip set out.

* * *

Skye was aware of the expectant looks she was receiving as she carefully placed their meals on the table.

"So… what did Phil say?" Tony asked.

"What did you even write?" Bucky said. "You could've just given her the note when she was at your end of the table, or told Phil when he saw us before."

"That's not as much fun," he said. "Well?"

She sighed. "I don't know what you wrote, but he told me to say that he doesn't appreciate the joke. And if you're pranking him…"

"No pranking," Tony said, brow furrowing. "I don't understand how he could take it as a joke." He slumped back, thinking, as Skye retrieved more dishes. Then he eyed Bucky sharply from across the table. "Has Phil seen your hand-writing?"

Bucky blinked, and then frowned. "Uh… yeah. He has."

"God_damn_it."

"Wait, did you sign that note from _me_?"

Tony mumbled something, and Darcy huffed.

"Didn't I say you should type it?" she said.

"I didn't know he'd seen Barnes's writing! I think you should be proud that I wasn't just using a computer for once."

"What did you say to Phil?" Bucky asked urgently. "What'd you do?" He looked up at Skye. "Did he say anything else? Does he know it wasn't me?"

"Of course. He must've worked it out himself."

Bucky swore. "Stark, what the hell were you thinking?"

"It's all for the greater good," Tony said. He shrank back a little from Bucky's glare.

"What're you playing at?" he asked.

"Look, it was a compliment. Why would he think it's a joke?"

"Hell if I know," Skye said. "He's one of the sweetest guys I know, and anyone would be lucky to be with him. But do you ever hear of him dating?"

She left them to continue bringing out food, leaving Bucky glowering at Tony, who was conferring with Darcy via text. Steve cleared his throat beside Bucky.

"At least he knows it wasn't you," he said.

"Steve, what's Stark up to?"

"We just want you to be happy, Buck. And Tony… he likes to fix things. I think he sees you as a project."

"Probably because I'm part-robot," Bucky muttered, before taking a sip of his water. Sam, on the other side of him, snorted into his own drink.

* * *

It was terrible timing. A week after the note incident, a delivery came in just as James reached the bar to pick up the latest order. As far as he was aware, there'd been no recent battles for the Avengers, which made Phil wonder why they didn't just visit, rather than sending James out of the city to pick up food. Phil shivered as he brushed past him on the way out to meet the van, so that he could sign for the delivery.

"Hey, uh…" Phil paused to look at James, whose words stuttered to a stop. "About that note…"

"It wasn't from you," Phil said. "I know. I… worked it out pretty quickly."

"Good," he said. "What did it say? Stark didn't tell me."

Phil shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Excuse me." Then he ducked outside, forcing himself not to turn and watch James from behind. He accepted the clipboard, murmuring a greeting to the truck driver, and checked the list while the man opened the doors.

"Get down!"

He looked up to see two men aiming guns at them, and shuffling closer. There were screams from inside the restaurant, but Phil was just irritated.

"Do you mind?" he said. "I'm taking a delivery."

"Dude, just do as he says!" the truck driver hissed, his hands in the air as he backed off. Phil was unimpressed as he studied the assailants, who continued to approach. He took slow, careful steps in front of the truck, his eyes flicking to the side only once to see what was closest to hand.

"Stop moving!" the other would-be robber shouted, waving his revolver.

"Well, you have next to no sense of gun safety," Phil remarked.

In the split second that the bad guys were confused, he hit one of them across the face with the clipboard, knocked the other's gun out of his hand, and grabbed the closest item to hand – a bag of flour – and threw it in his face. He grabbed a hanging strap to give himself a boost, and kicked the other revolver down with one foot, and its owner in the face with the other. A simple series of hits and kicks later, and both men were on the ground, knocked out. Phil used the pen from the clipboard to flick the safeties on, and nudged the weapons out of the way with his foot. The truck driver was staring at him.

"What're you, an ex-Marine?" he said. Phil smiled enigmatically.

"Better," he said. He checked the back of the clipboard, but it was unharmed. He ran his eyes down the list, approved it, and signed off. Then he placed it in the truck, and glanced at the scattered flour. That would have to be swept up before the cops arrived.

He stared into the windows, where he could see and hear the patrons cheering. He left the driver to drag the perps out of the way, and walked back into the restaurant.

The first thing he noticed was James, who had a knife in each hand, but was simply staring at Phil. When he still didn't move, Phil touched his arm.

"You okay?" he asked. James nodded jerkily. Phil passed him and went up to the bar. "Called the police?"

"They're on their way," Grant said. "Should I put in an order for more flour?"

"I'll buy some on the way home, and bring it in tomorrow."

"Bobbi's getting a broom. She said she'd take care of the mess."

Phil smiled. He loved how efficient everyone was. "Good."

"I think we'll be taking excellent tips today," Skye said, elbowing Phil. He waved politely at the patrons, and called for them to sit back down and carry on eating. When they were mostly seated, he went back to James, who was tucking the blades back into his pockets. Did he carry them with him everywhere?

"Your food should still be warm," he said. James coughed.

"We have to reheat it by the time I get back anyway," he said. Clint jogged into the restaurant.

"I saw what happened," he said. "Everything okay here?"

"Of course," Phil said.

"Do you have CCTV for outside, at least?"

"We do have cameras. They're just not connected to any network."

Clint blinked rapidly. "That would explain why…"

"Why what?"

"Uh, never mind. Do we need to stay to give statements?"

"The police won't be long. I'm sure you'll be allowed to go soon."

He nodded. "In the meantime, why don't you and Bucky talk about those sweet moves? I mean, using _flour_…"

"I'm a chef," Phil said. "Using flour is something I do on a regular basis."

Clint chortled, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll go see how the driver's doing."

"How are _you_ doing?" James asked quietly after Clint left. "Honestly."

"Honestly?" Phil said. "I'll be okay. A few exercises tonight and there shouldn't be any aches tomorrow."

"Okay," James said. He looked over Phil's shoulder. "I'll go pay for the food now."

"You do that," he said, feeling a pang of regret at James walked around him. Realising that Leo and Mack were probably wondering what was going on, and having to look after anything which was cooking, he returned to the kitchen.

* * *

**That was actually kinda fun to write. I'm not usually terribly fussed about writing fight scenes, because I suck at them, but I quite enjoyed that.**

**I hope it wasn't too confusing with Phil thinking of Bucky as James again.**

**Please review!**


	9. Chapter Nine

"Chapter Nine"

"He did what?" Bruce asked, looking over the top of his glasses in amazement.

"You should've seen it," Clint said, demonstrating a couple of punches.

"There's film," Bucky said. "Outside. The cameras are not connected—"

"Yeah, but the police will have a copy, and _that'll_ go onto a network," Tony said, already summoning screens. "JARVIS—"

"I have located the nearest police station to The Everything Diner."

"Great," Tony said, emphasising the 't'. "It'll be online in the quarter hour."

"Tony, you can't do that," Pepper admonished. "Phil will know you did it."

"Leaked police footage?"

"_Yes_. He's smart."

Tony shrugged. "The world should know how awesome he is," he said.

"And when Director Fury realises who's responsible?" Steve asked, and his lips quirked at the corners when Tony froze.

"Besides, you don't want civilians trying those sorts of stunts, do you?" Clint said. "And if it brings the diner heaps of business, will we ever be able to get back in?"

"That's selfish," Bucky said. "None of you have a problem with sending me to get food, so why would you be concerned with getting seats?"

"Well, he hasn't got that many people cooking with him," Natasha said. "He would need to take on additional staff, and I would need to begin supervising again."

"I can't…" Bucky shook his head, and looked to Sam and Steve for support. "It's an invasion of privacy. You hate it when people invade _your_ privacy, Stark."

"Even though his life's an open book," Clint muttered.

"Fine, I won't release it," Tony said. "But I'm making a copy for us. I wanna see him in action, okay?"

"So do I," Steve said, and he shrugged when his boyfriend and Bucky looked at him. "It sounds like he did an amazing job, and I want to see it. Is that so bad?"

"S'pose not," Bucky said quietly, leaning back in the armchair with his arms crossed. "He was… incredible."

"He was, huh?" Darcy said. She gave him a teasing smile. "How'd it make you feel, seeing him beating up a couple of miscreants?"

"'Miscreants'?" Jane said, raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, I got that from your boyfriend, so you don't get to judge." Thor grinned.

"Anyway… aha! Here it is," Tony said, cuing up the video. The footage was pretty clear for an analogue recording, and they were able to see his expression of utter displeasure when confronted by the gunmen. Although Clint had already described the fight, it was another thing to see it for themselves, especially at such a good angle. He never faltered, and took the attempted-robbers down in under two minutes, from the time they confronted him to the moment the second guy was knocked to the ground. Phil all but dusted his hands off, a small smirk playing around his mouth.

"That. Was. Friggin'. Amazing," Darcy declared. "He should totally work for SHIELD or something."

"Or for us," Tony said.

"What would he do?" Clint asked. "Babysit us? Handle us? Liaise with Fury?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of Avengers' cook," he said. "It's my plan B."

"Plan B for what?" Bucky asked. They all looked at him, some more guiltily than others, and he frowned. "Plan B for what, Stark?"

"For getting free food, basically," Tony said.

"…_What_?"

"I figured if he was dating one of us, we'd get special treatment, maybe even free food," he explained.

"But… but we can afford it! _You_ can afford it."

"Yeah, like Fury said. You can't deny, however, that being connected to him would have its benefits." Tony dismissed the screen while everyone else – minus Bucky and Sam – found somewhere else to look.

"Who… who were you going to set him up with?" Bucky asked, suddenly quieter.

"Who were… Who do you _think_, Barnes? Who d'you think we've been trying to set him up with _all this time_?"

Bucky stared, and swallowed. "Me? You were… with me?"

"_Yes_."

"I…" He looked away, and met Sam's concerned eyes. He looked down at his lap. "Why?"

"I've explained—"

"Why _me_?"

"Because you're the obvious choice."

Bucky tried not to think of the reasons he was an obvious choice. Such thoughts would lead him somewhere he didn't want to go.

"You realise," he said, "that if you brought him on as Avengers' chef, you'd have to pay him anyway, so you wouldn't be getting free food."

"Hmm." Tony tapped his lips. "But it'd be more convenient. And we'd get his breakfast, too. We'd get home-cooked meals from him all the time. I've seriously gotten hard thinking about this."

Bucky was out of his seat and gripping Tony by his shirt in three seconds. Sam stood behind him, and grabbed his shoulder.

"Calm down," he said. Tony just looked smug.

"Knew you liked him," he said.

"You didn't figure it out on your own," Natasha said. "Rhodes and I had to hit you over the head with a clue."

"Let him go, Bucky," Sam said. Slowly, Bucky released his grip, but he stayed where he was.

"You don't see Phil as a person," he said.

"What do you see him as?" Tony said.

"As a man. A great man, who looked after a homeless guy, brought him into his home and even offered him a key so I could come back anytime I needed to, and gave me food, and I… I…" He trailed off, and moved back a step. "I… won't let you use him. He's not an object you can bring out when you need it, and then toss it away after you're finished."

"Noted," Tony said, straightening his shirt. "But the match-making clearly failed, so it's up to plan B. Lewis, you said that Fury would get Phil to come over here anytime, right?"

"Not exactly what he said, but I can ask him again," she said. "I like him. He's badass."

Bucky didn't stick around for the rest of the conversation. With one final death stare at Tony, he left the room, and headed for the guest floor he was still using. He shared it with Sam, and it was just below Steve's floor.

Once there, he sank onto the edge of his bed and buried his head in his hands. He combed his fingers through his hair, some of the strands getting caught on the metal of his left hand. He shook off the small pinches, and tried not to scream his rage. He wanted Phil. Tony had been trying to force them into a relationship. If it'd worked, it would have been fake, so fake, and Bucky might've never found out.

And all because Tony— no, _Stark_ – wanted the star treatment he already got. For God's sake, no one else got food to go from The Everything Diner. What more did he want? Bucky didn't have work yet, and he didn't like others paying for his food; but he'd accepted charity from Phil, and knew that it wasn't a bad thing. Yet it meant he didn't have anything to offer Phil. Couldn't buy him flowers or take him out on dates, even if the man was interested, which he _wasn't_. Even if he was, who would he be interested in? Sergeant Bucky Barnes, best friend of Captain America? Bucky, the honorary Avenger who was trying to claw back some semblance of a life after being used by the enemy to kill innocent people?

Or… just James? And who was the real James Buchanan Barnes, out of the three? Was there even a real James Buchanan Barnes? Would there ever be one?

He absently plucked the stray hairs from his metal hand, thinking about what it would be like to kiss Phil Coulson. Bucky hadn't kissed anyone in a long time. When was the last time he really kissed someone, and meant it? As in feelings-for-them meant it? He'd had a couple of crushes when he was younger, and liked chasing pretty skirts when he could. But he'd never really felt that connection with anyone, not long enough. Only a few hurried kisses between bomb shelters. And he'd never kissed a man before, not like that, not even to experiment.

He didn't want to start, either, unless it was with…

He exhaled forcefully, and laid back on the bright yellow quilt that made it hard to sleep unless he was dead on his feet.

Dead on his feet. An apt description for his time as HYDRA's pet snake.

Well, it was time to get some kind of employment. He needed to send Phil flowers of apology for Tony's behaviour. Maybe take them himself, and leave them on the doorstep, with a note to explain what had been happening. Then he could stop feeling so damn guilty about something out of his control.

"JARVIS?" he asked.

"Yes, Sergeant Barnes?" the AI replied. It was still unsettling to hear that voice, but he was getting used to it.

"Do I have enough money to be able to send flowers to Phil?" he said. "To apologise."

JARVIS sounded amused when he replied. "You have sufficient funds, sir."

"You know his address?"

"Of course."

"I guess… something that says I'm sorry. And with a note saying that they've been trying to set us up together, just so he knows why I'm apologising. And signed 'James'. Please?"

"I am placing an order now. Do you give me permission to access your bank account to withdraw the required payment?"

"Yeah," Bucky said, tucking his hands between his legs. "He should be home today."

"The transaction is complete," JARVIS said.

"Thank you."

* * *

That evening, Bucky roped Sam and Steve – and consequently Clint – into helping him negotiate the internet and find work. He put working for SHIELD as a 'maybe'; he wasn't sure whether he could go back to killing people again, so unless he could be a trainer… and even then, any potential triggers could have serious consequences… So it was only a 'maybe' for SHIELD.

He enjoyed helping the animal shelter, but there would be few paying jobs available in that line of work, and he always ran the risk of pinching someone's skin with his metal arm. He was strong; Clint suggested working in construction, but Bucky doubted that anyone would hire him.

"You won't know `til you try," he said.

"You'd be handling materials, not people," Sam said. "It could work."

"Do you really want to put a hammer in my hand?" Bucky asked.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Steve snapped. Bucky flinched back.

"I want t— I _need_ to work," he said, before Steve could apologise.

"What did you do before you became a soldier?" Sam asked, touching Bucky's knee.

"There was a depression on. Work was hard to get."

"I understand."

Bucky rubbed his metal arm, cursing it. No matter how much Tony wanted to tinker with it, Sam had forbidden it; and after conferring with him, Dr. Banner also forbade it on medical grounds. Repairs could be made, but under supervision. What Bucky really wanted was just to get a prosthetic, or something at least coated with a protective covering. But he would have to learn how to use anything new. If only he wasn't so limited in his options. Perhaps… SHIELD really was the only option. Be a hired killer again, only killing the bad guys this time. It wouldn't cleanse his soul, but then it felt like nothing ever would. Natasha had spoken of washing the red out of her ledger. He knew how she felt, how Clint felt.

"What… would Director Fury want me to do?" he asked, making eye contact with Clint. The archer shrugged.

"You'd need to undergo another psych evaluation first," he said. "If you were going on the field, you'd initially be paired with a handler, and sent on test missions."

"And if I was to be a trainer instead?" Bucky said. "If a position as trainer was available. I'm sure there are many instructors, though."

"Yeah, but you're a legend, and a crack-shot," Clint said. "I was kind of a fan growing up. Not that I can really be a fanboy anymore." He grinned sheepishly. "Since I'm dating your best friend."

"You should definitely think about teaching," Sam said. He eyed Bucky slyly. "After all, the only person you want handling you is Phil Coulson."

Bucky surged to his feet, and stalked away. "You too?" he said. "Sam, I… I…"

"Hey, relax, man," Sam said, raising his hands in a placating gesturing. "Just teasing. Though you've gotta admit that he's head over heels for you."

"No, he isn't," Bucky muttered, but not softly enough. It nearly echoed in the quiet room.

"What do you mean?" Clint said, frowning at Bucky. "He's not been exactly subtle."

"He changed his work days because of me," Bucky said.

"Maybe he didn't want you to work it out," Steve said. "That he's in love with you."

"He isn't… he… he isn't. He can't be."

"Dude, the guy's in love," Clint said. "With you. He may as well have a flashing neon sign over his head saying it. We all saw him when he saw you again, before he knew who you were. That smile he had… and all those times we've made you go to get food? We've all seen how he is, and how you look at him."

"And you told me all about how he fed you, and offered you a place to stay," Sam said gently. "Why won't you give it a chance, Bucky?"

"I… I have nothing to offer him."

"Is that why you're looking for a job?" Steve said, cocking his head. Sometimes he was eerily perceptive.

"Partly," Bucky said. "It's for practical purposes, too. But I can't see him… _wanting_ me. James, Bucky, Sergeant Barnes. _Any_ of me. No one would—" He cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut.

"Yeah, he really would," Clint said. "Think about it, Bucky. Every interaction you've had with him. Picture it. _See_ what the rest of us have seen."

Bucky tried. He did. From the first time Phil gave him food, through offering to let him stay the night, take a key. He thought about the first time he saw Phil again after so long, unsure of how he would be received, and subsequent meals at The Everything Diner. To each time Bucky was sent to buy food for the team, and Phil's unnecessary concern the day the truck was nearly robbed. Every look he'd been given, the tone of Phil's voice, every hitch in his breath when Bucky was too near, his gestures, the way he had been so kind to a complete stranger, shown such trust in a man who claimed to be on the run from everyone… and he saw…

"JARVIS?" Bucky said evenly.

"Sergeant Barnes?"

"Did you send a note with the flowers, saying that I was sorry?"

"Yes, sir."

He swore, vehemently, in Russian. Then he grabbed his coat, stuffed his feet into boots, and his wallet into the pocket of his coat.

"Bucky, where are you going?" Steve asked.

"To make this right."

* * *

**Next chapter… heck. I was gonna have Tony offering to make Phil the Avengers' chef, in this chapter. I'll have to shove something like that into the last chapter. As I write this, I have yet to decide just how smutty I shall make the final chapter.**

**Please review! Too late to vote, since the story will be finished before I begin posting. My author notes are more stream-of-consciousness when I write them. It's after the edits that things are a bit clearer. And occasionally I don't even bother to edit out my streams (almost typed 'screams'… how appropriate) of consciousness, just for my own amusement, and hopefully yours, dear readers.**


	10. Chapter Ten

"Chapter Ten"

Phil was spread out on his sofa, not doing much other than thinking and feeling. He couldn't get the flowers and their accompanying missive out of his mind. 'Phil, I'm sorry. The others have been trying to match-make us. James.' It wasn't exactly eloquent, but the message was pretty damn clear. Anything that could've been there was manufactured by outside influences.

He'd put up with the teasing from his co-workers for the past few months. Kids, all of them, except for Melinda, who Phil knew from the old days. He'd told her about Fury, but she still hadn't grown past their old grudge. Neither of them would tell him about it; he'd once guessed that they'd had an affair with each other, but the scathing look he'd received from Melinda put paid to him guessing any more. Given that it only looked a bit more severe than her usual expression, it was hard to tell; but it said, more than anything else, 'Never ask me that again'.

He didn't. And he was, in fact, grateful that she never asked him how he felt about Bucky, because he'd have to be honest with her, and saying those words out loud would make it real. It would hurt more in the end, and he couldn't deal with that.

"This is stupid," he muttered. "Over one man I barely know? Stupid, stupid, stupid." He repeatedly thumped the back of his head on the arm of the sofa. His attentions led him to notice the bouquet. He'd wanted to throw out the purple hyacinths as soon as he read the note, but he couldn't bring himself to. For all he knew, it was another prank; the card was written by the florist, after all. Except who else would know to sign the card 'James'?

So instead of getting rid of the flowers, he put them in a vase and filled it with water, along with the plant food included in the wrapping. He set the note beside it, more to get it out of the way than to remind himself that it even existed.

Deciding that he could definitely continue to be lazy today – his food shopping was all done, and it wasn't time to start Christmas shopping yet – he stayed put. Until, that is, there was frantic knocking at the door. Vaguely registering that it was his own door, he got to his feet and wandered over.

"Coming!" he said. The knocking stopped. He picked up the sound of restless movements, which matched the urgency of the knocks. Tensing – more out of instinct than habit – he twisted the knob and opened the door.

"Phil."

"James?"

"Did you get the…?"

"The flowers, yes. I got them."

"Oh." James shifted from foot to foot. This time out of habit, Phil stood aside and waved him in.

"Thank you," he said. "They're very nice. You did send them, didn't you?"

"Yes," James said, proceeding through the apartment to the kitchen-lounge area.

Phil sighed. "I thought so."

"Hmm?" James looked over his shoulder briefly, but then seemed to notice the flowers. He made a beeline for them. What now?

"Is there a problem?" Phil asked.

"What? No. I mean, yes."

"Please excuse me for saying so, Ja— Bucky, but you seem a little… twitchy."

"Don't call me that," he replied, voice sharp as a knife. Phil took a step back.

"I'm sorry, Sergeant Barnes," he said. It felt almost like that knife was stabbing him in the gut. James… _he_ turned around and moved towards Phil.

"You don't call me that," he said. "You call me James."

"I… Excuse me?"

"You're the only one who calls me that," James said.

"What am I supposed to call you, then?" Phil asked, unable to stop a feeling of irritation, which at least overrode the hurt.

"James," he said. "You call me James. The others tried, but I wouldn't let them. I only want _you_ to call me James."

"…Oh." Phil knew that he must have been blushing. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, and James half-smiled. "Why?"

"Because you're mine. Nothing else I own feels like it's mine, but you are. That's why."

Then James turned on his heel and resumed his walk towards the kitchen counter. He scooped up the note, and tore it into pieces. He dumped those in the nearby bin and Phil watched, in complete fascination, as James snatched up the shopping list notepad and a pen, and scribbled something on it. Uncertain about what he was supposed to be doing, he considered turning off the depressing music he'd been playing to go with his mood. Before he could make one move towards his CD player, James ran back to stand in front of him, and shoved a new note into his hands. Then he moved back a pace. Phil unfolded the scrap of paper, and turned it to read the messy handwriting.

'I want to take you to the cinema. Your James.'

Taking a few (slightly unsteady) breaths, Phil looked back up at James, who was fidgeting again.

"What does it mean?" he blurted out. James cocked his head, looking confused.

"What does it mean?" he said. "What do you think it means, Phil?"

"It… just because the others were match-making doesn't mean you have to go along with it, James."

"I know. It took a long time to relearn, but I know how to make my own decisions. And I want to court you."

Phil clutched the paper to his chest. His heart was thumping dangerously. "Why—"

"Stop asking me why, Phil! Isn't it enough that I want to?"

"No one has before," he snapped. "Why would anyone start now?"

"Because everyone else who's had a chance with you and hasn't taken it is clearly an idiot," James said, glaring at him. "Don't deny that you want me."

"This isn't about me," Phil said.

"I'm. Not. Delicate." _Definitely not delicate_, Phil thought. "My mental health is probably as good as it's going to get, and it's a hell of a lot better than it was before I met you. Everything's better since I met you, Phil." He huffed. "I… I never told you, but the reason I was outside The Everything Diner that night? I'd followed Steve. I was slowly starting to recognise him, but didn't want to approach him yet. That's why I was out the back of the restaurant. I'd followed him. Best damn decision I've ever made."

"Oh," Phil said again, and he smiled. James took a step closer. Phil didn't move back.

"I know that you care about me, Phil. You've shown that all along. I just didn't realise it until Sam, Steve, and Clint told me to think about your behaviour."

"Were they the ones…?"

"Trying to set us up? They were in on it, but this was after Stark told me about the original plans to get us together. I really thought I had no chance with you." He looked down to his hands, twisted together, one metal and one flesh. "That was why I sent the flowers. Or had JARVIS send them. I don't know what he wrote on the note, but… when they finally made me recognise your feelings – and my own – I came right here, because I didn't want to apologise anymore. Not for loving you."

Phil felt light-headed. "Loving…"

"Yeah." James shuffled closer, and held out his real hand. "Phil? Say you'll… you'll think about it? I can't be wrong about this. I'm sure I read you… read you right. Didn't I?"

"Yes," he said, snapping out of his daze. "God, yes. I love you. I love you, James. I do." He took James's hand and tugged him forward. Then he took hold of the artificial hand as well, and kissed both of them, the crumpled note crackling in his fist. He let go long enough to dump it on the kitchen counter, and then led James to the sofa, where they began to cuddle up. In the blink of an eye, James pulled Phil into his lap and brought his head down for a kiss. It was relatively swift, but enough to make him even giddier.

"Could I… stay with you?" James asked. "Like you wanted me to, before I ran away?"

"Which reminds me," Phil said, tapping him on the chest lightly. "No more running away. I was terrified that something might have happened to you, and no one would know to contact me."

"I'm sorry," James said. "It won't happen again."

"It'd better not."

"It won't, if you kiss me."

"Now that's an invitation I can live with," Phil muttered, and he pulled James up by the collar of his shirt.

* * *

Later, when Phil was lying across James, who was stretched out on the sofa, he thought of something.

"Why were they trying to match-make us in the first place?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Your friends," Phil said. "Were they match-making us because they could see our feelings?"

"I think Stark thought that it would be successful because of our feelings, but that wasn't why he wanted to pair you off with one of us."

He arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Turns out that he figured whoever was dating you would get free meals," James said, disdain written all over his features. His very handsome features, Phil noted to himself. "And so would that person's friends."

"Free meals?"

"It's been pointed out to him that you're too professional for that – by Director Fury, in fact – and that Stark's a billionaire, so why should he get free food? Even if he doesn't usually pay for all of us, we… most of us can already afford it."

Phil squirmed in place, and James held him tighter. "Some people achieve their fortunes by scrimping where possible."

"He inherited from Howard."

"And built on it, I know," Phil said. "But maybe he has that mentality, regardless. Or maybe he's used to people manipulating situations to score favours."

"Well, his plan B is to hire you as the Avengers' personal chef."

He burst out laughing. "Really? He thinks I'd leave my restaurant?"

James raised his eyebrows, and his mouth fell open. "_Your_ restaurant?"

"Yes. I own and run the place. I scrimped and saved to be able to expand, and while it's not securely tucked away in the middle of New York City anymore, I still have a loyal clientele willing to make the journey to get here. And I'm less likely to incur damage from superhero vs. supervillain battles out in the `burbs."

"Huh. Makes sense. So you definitely won't be joining Tony Stark's staff?"

"I won't be going anywhere near his staff," Phil said. James grunted something unintelligible. "But I wouldn't object to being _your_ personal cook. You would be, if you… if you lived here."

"Well, that's something _I_ can live with," James said, and he rubbed his nose in Phil's hair. He smelled of herbs and spices. Phil cooked his own meals, so that made sense.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Phil had never had much of a life outside of The Everything Diner. With a promise to cook meals which they could reheat during the week, and appropriate compensation from Tony for doing so, Phil had taken on a couple of new people to train up. There was some increased business by word of mouth, mainly from the customers who'd witnessed him beating down the two men who'd tried to hold up the truck. Consequently, he needed to employ extra people. Melinda was working a couple of extra shifts, and he was grooming the more advanced youngsters to be able to take on some of his other shifts.

After all, he now had someone to go home to at the end of the day, and it was nice to have some more free time. He would have had to train replacements eventually, and it was probably better to do it sooner, rather than later. He liked his staff, and wanted them to feel that they had a secure future with him.

James? Or Bucky, as nearly everyone else called him, had found out that he was receiving a soldier's pension, and that the money he should still have been earning all this time had been paid into his account awhile back. No one had thought to mention that; in fact, it was JARVIS who informed him. He was relieved that he could contribute to household expenses, even though Phil had promised to look after him until he had steady work.

He… sort of had work. He was studying mechanics, and was due to start an apprenticeship at a garage next fall. He helped unload the trucks of supplies at the restaurant in his spare time, but refused payment.

"I'll just feel like your toy-boy," he told Phil.

"Who taught you that term?"

"…Natasha, actually. She was joking."

"I'd be paying you for doing actual work."

"It's hardly work. I don't even break a sweat."

"Damn super soldier experiments," Phil muttered, but he certainly didn't complain when James moved boxes around while shirtless. He just glared any oglers into averting their eyes from His Man.

Where Phil Coulson's days at home had been spent watching bad television by himself, making meals for one person, he now had someone to watch TV with, and catch up on movies from the last seven decades. And now he was cooking for two. His food bill had more than doubled, but it was worth it to see the satisfaction on his lover's face after a hearty meal and dessert. His weekends were filled with visiting Stark Tower, and getting to know James's friends.

And instead of nights by himself, and days trying to find himself and his purpose in life, James Buchanan Barnes had someone to share a bed – a whole home – with, and he had studying and work to take up the hours that Phil was at The Everything Diner. He couldn't really say that Stark's match-making scheme had worked, not the way the billionaire had wanted it to…

But they had each other. That was all they needed.

* * *

**Yo! Finished the story. Hurrah and all that.**

**Hope you enjoyed it. Romance makes its way into nearly everything I write, which is annoying, and I don't know what Freud would say about me; but then I'd say a heck of a lot back to him, even if I had to learn German to be able to get the message across. And then make his brain explode by explaining Omegaverse. Mwa-ha-ha-ha!**

**Erm, please review. It's a rare pairing, and I need to justify writing rare pairings somehow.**


End file.
